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Copyright,  1885, 

by 

C.  \V.  MacI'Ari.ane. 


Canons  of  Criticism. 

An  Introduction  to 

The  Development 

of 

English  Poetry. 

By 

C.  W.  Macflirlane. 


Contents. 


PAGE. 


Poetry 7 

Poet  versus  Philosopher 29 

Repose 43 

Healthfulness 59 

Humor 71 

Resume 87 


Preface. 

SOME  years  ago  we  attempted  to  sketch 
"The  Development  of  English  Poetry," 
but  at  the  very  outset  found  ourselves 
confronted  M'ith  this  formidable  difficulty,  that 
there  is  no  generally  accepted  definition  of 
Poetry.  While  there  is  undoubtedly  some 
agreement  as  to  the  merit  of  special  lines, 
and  many  attempts  to  define  Poetry  or  to 
formulate  a  criterion  by  which  all  lines  might 
be  safely  judged,  yet  are  these  conflicting  in 
the  extreme,  while  none  seem  willing  to  give 
a  reason  for  the  faith  that  is  in  them.  Until 
this  is  done,  until  some  general  agreement  has 
been  established  among  men  in  regard  to  a 
criterion  which  shall  .say  ;  this  is  of  low,  and 
this  of  high  degree,    no    discussion  of  "The 


Development  of  English  Poetry  "  can  be  with 
any  great  profit. 

Recognizing  this,  we  have  endeavored  to 
find  some  strand  of  agreement  running  through 
the  mass  of  conflicting  opinion.  Where  one 
has  seemed  arrayed  against  another,  we  have 
striven,  not  so  much  to  develop  a  new  and 
different  truth,  as  to  harmonize  their  contra- 
diction, holding  it  as  highly  probable  that  they 
were  but  different  phases  of  the  same  truth. 

Out  of  the  original  discussion  there  have 
grown  definitions  of  many  of  the  terms  in 
current  use  in  criticism,  and  yet  about  which 
much  difference  of  opinion  exists.  Lastly  we 
were  constrained  to  define  Humor,  and  this 
widening  of  the  discussion  has  compelled  the 
seemingly  pretentious  title  "  Canons  of  Criti- 
cism ;"  and  yet  that  the  principles  here  enun- 
ciated have  a  wider  application  than  to  Poetry, 
he  who  runs  may  read. 

That  the  time  has  come  when,  if  Critical 
Literature  is  to  make  further  advance,  there 
must  be  some  general  agreement  as  to  the 
meaning  of  the  terms  employed,  there  can  be 
no  question,  though  how  successful  we  have 


5 

been  in  our  attempts  to  give  definition  to  some 
of  these  terms  others  must  judge.  This,  at 
least,  we  may  say  :  "  It  is  an  honest  Ghost." 


No.  4728  Green  Street, 
Germantown, 

Philadelphia. 


C.  W.  M. 


Poetry. 

CRITICAL  literature  has  of  late  been  much 
perturbed  by  the  question,  whether  in 
the  brilHant  ornateness  of  Shelley,  or 
in  the  serene  contemplation  of  Wordsworth, 
is  found  the  greater  poetic  genius.  Nor  can 
the  perturbation  be  confined  within  the  girth 
of  the  original  question;  for,  take  what  side 
you  will,  the  mere  assertion  that  certain  lines 
are  superior  in  poetic  merit  to  certain  others 
commits  you  to  the  proposition,  that  some 
measure,  some  test  of  poetic  excellence,  is 
possible. 

And  so,  no  longer  contented  with  vague 
generalities,  men  seek  for  such  a  criterion,  as 
will  enable  them  to  determine  for  any  and  all 


8 


examples  of  poetic  endeavor,  the  order  of  their 
going. 

It  is  not  possible  within  the  limits  of  these 
pages  to  review  all  previous  definitions  ;  but 
if  we  can  find  that  among  them  there  are  two 
or  more  under  one  or  the  other  of  which  all 
others  may  be  included,  we  can  expedite  our 
discussion  by  confining  ourselves  to  these,  and 
so,  building  upon  the  foundation  of  the  apostles 
and  prophets  of  afore-determined  truth,  may 
be  led  to  a  definition  of  at  least  as  great  exact- 
ness and  generality  as  any  yet  proposed. 

Conspicuous  among  recent  efforts  in  this 
direction  is  that  of  Mr.  Matthew  Arnold,  who 
in  the  preface  to  his  "  Selections  from  Words- 
worth's Poems"  writes: 

"  It  is  important  that  we  hold  fast  to  this: 
that  poetry  is  at  bottom  a  criticism  of  life ; 
that  the  greatness  of  the  poet  lies  in  his  beau- 
tiful and  powerful  application  of  ideas  to  life, 
to  the  question  how  to  live." 

In  the  "  Contemporary  Review,"  Decem- 
ber, 1 88 1,  Mr.  Alfred  Austin  combats  this, and 
offers  in  its  stead  the  following :  "  Poetry  is  a 
transfiguration    of    life ;    in  other   words,  an 


iniai;inati\-c  representation  in  verse  or  rhj-thm, 
of  whatever  men  perceive,  feel,  think,  or  do." 
"  The  relative  greatness  of  a  poet  depends  upon 
the  amount  of  life  he  has  transfigured  ;  in  other 
words,  upon  how  much  of  whatever  men  per- 
ceive, feel,  think  or  do,  he  has  in  verse  or 
rhythm  represented  imaginati\'ely." 

What,  in  simple,  are  we  to  understand 
from  these  criteria  ?  I\Ir.  Austin  interprets 
Mr.  Arnold  as  declaring  that  it  is  in  the  criti- 
cism or  philosophy  of  life,  in  the  thought  con- 
tained in  any  lines,  that  we  must  find  the 
measure  of  the  poet's  work  and  genius,  while 
his  own  may  be  fairly  interpreted  as  declaring, 
that  the  poet  evidences  his  genius  in  a  special 
mode  of  representing  the  thought,  or  b}'  his 
"  transfiguration  "  of  the  same.  But  what  of 
this  "  transfiguration,"  for  before  passing  judg- 
ment upon  a  statement,  we  must  needs  have 
some  clear  idea  as  to  the  meaning  of  the  terms 
employed. 

Among  the  many  examples  quoted  in  the 
course  of  Mr.  Austin's  argument  is  the  follow- 
ing from  Wordsworth's  "  Simon  Lee  the  Old 
Huntsman  :  " 


"  And  he  is  lean  and  he  is  sick ; 

His  body  dwindled  and  awry 
Rests  upon  ankles  swollen  and  thick : 

His  legs  are  thin  and  dry. 
One  prop  he  has  and  only  one, 

His  wife,  an  aged  woman, 
Lives  with  him  near  the  waterfall, 

Upon  the  village  common,"  etc. 

"  Need  I  hesitate  to  say, "  writes  Mr. 
Austin,  and  we  must  perforce  agree  with  him, 
"that,  though  written  by  Wordsworth,,  this 
is  not  poetry?"  Farther  on  he  writes:  — 
"  If  any  one  wants  to  see  how  the  same  writer 
can  hft  narrative  from  the  ground  and  endue 
it  with  the  ethereal  buoyancy  of  poetry,  let  him 
turn  to  '  The  Leech-Gatherer.' 

"  Beside  a  pool  bare  to  the  eye  of  heaven, 
1  saw  a  man  before  me  unawares ; 
The  oldest  man  he  seemed  that  ever  wore  gray  hair. 
Himself  he  pressed,  his  body,  limbs  and  face, 
Upon  a  long  gray  staff  of  shaven  wood  ; 
And  still  as  I  drew  near  with  gentle  pace 
Upon  the  margin  of  that  inoorish  flood 
Motionless  as  a  cloud  the  old  man  stood. 
That  heareth  ftot  the  loud  winds  wJicn  they  call, 
And  Diovctli  all  together,  if  it  niovc  at  ally 


"The  peom  is  of  some  length,"  continues 
Mr.  Austin,  "  and  therefore  cannot  be  quoted 
in  its  integrity.  But  anybody  can  perceive  at 
once,  that  the  narrative  is  conducted  at  a  dif- 
ferent elevation  from  that  of  '  Simon  Lee.'  We 
are  listening  on  the  high  mountain  and  the  old 
man  is  transfigured^  Now  while  all  this  is 
doubtless  true,  yet  have  we  somewhat  against 
the  vague  indefinitencss  of  the  term — transfig- 
ured— since,  like  charity,  it  may  cover  a  mul- 
titude of  sins. 

We  would  further  urge,  that  the  criterion 
which  is  the  outcome  of  this,  not  only  contains 
"  nothing  novel,  nothing  strange,"  which  were 
an  indifferent  fault,  but  what  is  more  serious, 
it  falls  short,  both  in  generality  and  exactness, 
of  a  criterion  offered  some  three  centuries  ago. 
For  as  Sir  Philip  Sidney  has  written  in  his 
"  Defense  of  Poesy  :  " — "  It  is  not  rln-ming  or 
versing  that  makcth  a  poet,  but  it  is  the 
fcigfiifig  of  notable  images  of  virtues,  vices,  or 
what  else,  with  that  detigJitful  teaching  which 
must  be  the  right  describing  note  to  know 
a  poet  by  *  *  *  *  he  coupleth  the 
general  notion  with  the  particular  example." 


12 

That  in  this  we  have  a  criterion  of  greater 
exactness  and  generahty  than  that  offered  by- 
Mr.  Austin,  may  be  readily  shown. 

First  notice  that  it  holds,  and  we  think 
rightly,  that  metrical  structure  is  not  an  essen- 
tial or  necessary  condition  of  Poetry.  In  its 
early  days,  ere  Poetry  and  Music  had  become 
differentiated  from  each  other,  or  when  all 
Poetry  was  recited  or  sung,  the  bond  between 
them  was  much  closer  than  it  is  now,  when  a 
Wordsworth  enjoins  you — Read  my  lines  rhyth- 
mically if  you  can,  but,  at  all  events,  read  them 
so  as  to  get  the  sense.  Again,  if,  as  Mr.  Austin 
states,  we  can  have  rhythmical  Prose  and  un- 
rhythmical Poetry,  rhythm  can  neither  be  pecu- 
liar nor  essential  to  Poetry.  Or  while  the  Poet 
does  still  avail  himself  of  this  as  an  additional 
source  of  pleasure,  yet  may  he  evidence  great 
genius  as  a  Poet,  though  his  rhythm  be  never 
so  faulty. 

Notice,  too,  that  Sidney  gives  definition 
to  Mr.  Austin's  vague  term — "  transfigura- 
tion,"— in  that  he  takes  cognizance  of  its 
cause,  the  "  feigning  of  notable  images." 
Turn  to  the  lines  from  "  The  Leech-Gatherer," 


13 

in  which  the  presence  of  this  so-styled  "trans- 
figuration "  is  most  manifest,  and  you  certainly 
find  present  Jigiircs  of  great  credit,  while  the 
lines  from  "  Simon  Lee  "  lack  all  creditable 
figure.  So  throughout  all  the  examples  which 
Mr.  Austin  marshals  in  defense  of  his  cri- 
terion, wherever  we  have  "  transfiguration  "  we 
find  "notable  images"  or  figures,  while  in 
those  lines  which  fail  of  any  "  transfiguration  " 
figures  are  either  entirely  absent,  or,  when 
present,  are  of  but  little  merit. 

But  though  it  be  shown  that  the  "  trans- 
figuration "  of  Mr.  Austin  is  the  "  feigning  of 
notable  images  "  ox  figures  of  Sir  Philip  Sidney, 
yet  does  the  question  remain  whether,  after  all, 
this  "  transfiguration,"  this  "  feigning  of  notable 
images  "  or  figures,  is  the  essential  and  peculiar 
element  of  Poetry,  since  at  the  hands  of  a  most 
able  critic,  Mr.  Matthew  Arnold,  we  have  the 
statement  that  "  Poetry  is  at  bottom  a  criticism 
of  life."  Of  this  more  again,  sufficient  for  the 
present  is  the  fact,  which  the  reader  can  verify 
for  him.self,  that  under  one  or  the  other  of  the 
above  all  attempts  to  formulate  a  criterion  may 
be  included  ;  or,  while  men  may  and  do  differ 


14 

as  to  which  of  these  is  the  true  measure  of 
poetic  merit,  they  are  yet  substantially  agreed 
that  in  one  or  the  other,  in  the  character  of  the 
figure,  or  in  the  character  of  the  thought,  the 
essential  and  peculiar  element  of  Poetry  must 
be  found. 

In  favor  of  the  latter  assumption  it  might 
be  urged,  and  as  even  the  advocate  of  figure 
must  admit,  that  thought  is  essential,  since 
there  can  be  no  figure  save  as  it  expresses 
some  thought.  Further,  that  thought  is  the 
true  measure  of  poetic  excellence  seems  evi- 
denced by  the  fact  that  the  highest  Poetry  is 
ever  the  most  thoughtful.  On  the  other  hand, 
it  might  be  urged  against  this,  that  the  pleasure 
due  to  the  beauty,  pathos,  sublimity,  etc.,  of 
the  scene,  conception,  or  thought  represented, 
is  not  peculiar  to  Poetry,  but  is  alike  common 
to  nature,  philosophy,  etc. ;  while  in  the  highest 
Poetry  we  have  not  only  the  greatest  thought, 
hntjigtires  of  the  greatest  merit  as  well.  So, 
too,  when  we  turn  to  the  opinions  that  obtain 
in  regard  to  particular  examples,  as  the  lines 
already  quoted  from  "  Simon  Lee,"  while  there 
are  those  who,  with  Mr.  Austin,  will  declare 


15 

of  this  that  it  is  barren  of  all  poetic  merit,  there 
are  others  who  will  regard  it  as  within  the  limits 
of  Poetry. 

What  shall  we  say,  then, — that  no  consen- 
sus exists,  and  hence  that  no  definition  is  pos- 
sible? Not  at  all.  For  while  men  have  failed 
to  agree  in  their  attempts  to  define  Poetry ; 
failed  to  agree  whether  such  protozoa  of  litera- 
ture as  the  lines  from  "  Simon  Lee  "  shall  be 
included  under  the  head  of  Poetry  or  of  Prose, 
— they  do  not  fail  to  agree  that  these  lines  are 
infinitely  inferior  in  poetic  merit  to  such  lines 
as  Mr.  Austin  has  quoted  from  "  The  Leech- 
Gatherer."  Here,  then,  in  this  substantial 
agreement,  we  must  find  the  basis  of  any 
satisfactory  definition. 

Were  the  thought  expressed  in  these  ex- 
amples essentially  different,  they  would  help 
us  but  little  in  our  present  difficulty ;  but,  for- 
tunately, the  thought  is  much  the  same  in 
both  —  a  superannuated  old  man  from  the 
lower  walks  of  life — and  yet  despite  this  fact, 
tJiat  the  thought  is  the  saif/e,  the  poetic  merit 
of  the  lines  varies  most  widely.  Surel}',  much 
may  be  .seen  in  this. 


i6 


But  that  the  above  may  be  perfectly  clear 
let  us  take  another  pair  of  examples. 

The  scholarly  Horatio  salutes  the  break- 
ing day : 

"  But  look  the  morn  in  russet  mantle  clad 
Walks  o'er  the  dew  of  yon  high  eastern  hill." 

That  this  is  Poetry  all  will  agree,  and  yet 
how  it  pales  before  those  marvellous  lines  from 
the  33d  Sonnet: 

"  Full  many  a  glorious  morning  have  I  seen 
Flatter  the  mountain-top  with  sovereigtt  eye."     ' 

That  in  both  of  these  we  have  the  same 
scene,  conception,  or  thought, — morn, —  is 
manifest,  the  figure  alone  changing  with  the 
ascent  from  the  lowest  to  the  highest  tones  of 
the  poetical  gamut.  In  view  of  this,  may  we 
not  conclude  that  the  measure  of  poetic  excel- 
lence must  be  found,  not  in  the  character  of  the 
scene,  conception,  or  thought  represented,  but 
in  the  terms  of  the  figure  by  which  this  thought 
is  represented,  or  that : — Poetry  is  the  expressing 
of  thought  by  means  of  figure. 

It  does  not  tell  against  this  that  it  rele- 


17 

gates  some  of  the  protozoa  of  literature  to  the 
domain  of  Prose.  Nor  does  it,  as  you  shall  see 
further  on,  contradict  what  of  truth  there  is  in 
the  assertion  that  the  highest  Poetry  is  the 
most  thoughtful.  For  the  present,  however,  let 
us  inquire  whether  or  not  our  definition  will 
make  rational,  or  give  coherence  to  our  many 
vague  notions  about  Poetry. 

Among  all  our  ideas  in  regard  to  Poetry, 
perhaps  none  is  held  with  greater  assurance 
than  this,  that : — Poetry  is,  i)i  some  %vay,  the 
opposite  of  Prose. 

We  feel  that  while  both  express  thought 
by  means  of  language,  yet  is  there  some  an- 
tithesis between  them,  of  which  cognizance 
must  be  taken,  in  any  attempt  to  define  either. 
Argument  is  hardly  necessary  to  show  that 
all  figure  is  a  substitution  of  the  concrete  for 
the  abstract,  and  if,  as  Coleridge  has  main- 
tained. Scientific  is  a  better  term  than  Prose, 
it  is  then  manifest,  since  science  is  ever  a 
seeking  for  broader  generalizations,  that  the 
Scientific  or  Prose  method  of  expressing 
tliought,  is  the  substitution  of  the  general  or 
abstract,  for    the    particular  or    concrete.      It 


says  to  a  child  :  "  One  and  two  make  three," 
and  only  in  the  event  of  his  failing  to  under- 
stand this  does  it  deign  to  say :  "  If  you  had  two 
apples,  and  I  should  give  you  two  more  apples," 
etc.,  or  reversing  its  method,  it  then  substitutes 
the  familiar  for  the  unfamiliar,  the  particular  or 
concrete,  for  the  general  or  abstract,  or  it  has 
recourse  to  the  method  of  the  Poet,  who,  as 
Sidney  has  said,  "  coupleth  the  general  notion 
with  the  particular  example."  Here,  then,  in 
germ,  we  have  the  method  of  the  Poet,  his 
grandest  efforts  being  akin  to  the  above. 

If  he  wishes  to  convey  an  idea  of  the 
whiteness  of  his  mistress'  hand,  it  is  a  lily 
hand  ;  or  if  it  is  the  loveliness  of  her  voice, 
it  is  liquid  music.  If,  in  more  ambitious 
mood,  he  seeks  to  convey  an  idea  of  the  rela- 
tion of  life  to  eternity,  he  says  : 

"  Life,  like  a  dome  of  many-colored  glass, 
Stains  the  white  radiance  of  eternity." 

Adonais.     Shelley. 

or  "  he  coupleth  the  general  notion  " — life — 
"with  the  particular  example" — dome  of  many- 
colored  glass, — "  feigning  notable  images,"  or 


19 

figures.  While  in  contrast  with  this  the  Philoso- 
pher writes  :  "  Life  is  the  continuous  adjust- 
ment of  internal  relations  to  external  relations," 
substituting  the  general  or  abstract  for  the  par- 
ticular or  concrete.  Not  only  does  this  make 
clear  the  difference  between  Prose  and  Poetic 
composition,  but  it  will  also  enable  us  to  distin- 
guish between  Imaginative  and  Fanciful  Poetry, 
a  problem  which  has  troubled  criticism  not  a 
little;  Wordsworth,  Leigh  Hunt  and  Coleridge 
severally  devoting  themselves  to  its  solution. 

We  have  seen,  that  men  in  their  endea- 
vor to  convey  the  more  abstract  ideas,  are 
constrained  to  substitute  the  concrete  for  the 
abstract,  and,  as  Sidney  has  noticed,  there  is 
delightfulness  or  pleasure  peculiar  to  this 
mode  of  teaching, — a  pleasure  which,  in  a  large 
measure,  is  independent  of  the  character  of  the 
thought  to  be  conveyed. 

Mercutio,  chafing  the  love-lorn  Romeo, 
says : 

"  O,  then  I  see  Queen  Mab  has  been  with  you. 
Her  chariot  is  an  empty  hazel-nut, 
Made  by  the  joiner  squirrel  or  old  grub, 
Time  out  of  mind  the  fairies'  coach-m;iker." 


In  this  the  figures,  as  in  the  transfigura- 
tion of  an  empty  hazel-nut  into  a  chariot,  made 
by  the  joiner  squirrel,  etc.,  are  the  source  of 
exquisite  pleasure,  and  yet  the  thought  is  of 
but  little  importance.  Mercutio,  indeed,  ac- 
knowledges this,  saying : 

"  True,  I  talk  of  dreams, 
Which  are  the  children  of  an  idle  brain." 

And  that  the  above  is  Fanciful  Poetry  we  need 
hardly  urge. 

In  Imaginative  Poetry,  however,  the  mind 
is  no  longer  idle,  but  is  possessed  by  a  thought 
or  feeling,  and,  seeking  utterance,  finds  it  most 
readily  in  figure. 

"  Blow  winds,  and  crack  your  cheeks!  rage!  blow! 
You  cataracts  and  hurricanes  spout 
Till  you  have  drench'd  our  steeples,  drown'd  the 

cocks ! 
You  sulphurous,  and  thought-executing  fires, 
Vaunt-couriers  to  oak-cleaving  thunderbolts, 
Singe  my  white  head  !  "  Lear. 

That,  in  this,  the  figures  are  the  creatures  of  the 
cfreat  wrongs  that  hold  the  old  king's  mind  in 


21 


thrall,  or  that  the\'  arc  Imaginati\-e,  none  will 
question;  and  I  fancy  that  those  who  have  fol- 
lowed the  argument  thus  far,  will  begin  to 
realize  that  the  definitions — Poetry  is  at  bottom 
a  criticism  of  life  and  Poetry  is  a  transfigura- 
tion of  life — arc  more  akin  than  at  first  sight 
appeared.  For  it  is  undoubtedly  true  that  the 
most  marv^ellous  transfigurations  are  ever  those 
in  which  the  Poet  has  been  seriously  concerned 
about  the  question  "  how^  to  live." 

Here  then  we  have  the  real  distinction 
between  Imaginative  and  P'anciful  Poetry.  In 
the  former,  the  mind  is  possessed  with  a  par- 
ticular thought  or  feeling  compelling  utterance 
in  figure  ;  while  the  latter  is  rather  "  the  play 
of  the  mind,"  in  which,  as  in  Mercutio's  lines, 
figures  are  created  whose  only  reason  for  being 
is  their  own  delightfulness  ;  the  child  of  simple- 
featured  utility  become  "  the  world's  fresh 
ornament."  They  are  not,  then,  as  Coleridge 
has  maintained,  the  products  of  different  fac- 
ulties, but  of  one  and  the  .same  faculty — 
Imagination — acting  under  different  condi- 
tions. Nor  are  new  terms  necessary,  as  Leigh 
Hunt  declares,  for  those  we  have  are  most  apt. 


But  to  conclude,  since  even  in  the  most 
Fanciful  Poetry,  there  is  some  remnant  of 
thought,  we  can  for  the  present  write,  and  it 
has  a  familiar  look  :  Poetry  is  the  expressing 
of  thought  by  ineans  of  figure,  by  the  substitution 
of  the  concrete  for  the  abstract,  the  conceiving, 
mental  picturing^  or  imagining  of  the  unfamiliar 
in  terms  of  the  familiar. 

It  may  be  asked,  How  is  this  mental 
picturing  of  one  in  terms  of  the  other  effected  ? 
In  reply,  we  can  only  say  that  in  all  such 
instances  though  the  conceptions  brought 
together  are  essentially  different  i?i  kind,  or  are 
at  remove  from  each  other,  yet  is  there  some 
similarity  between  them  ;  and  as  an  outcome 
of  our  faith  in  causality,  we  instinctively  merge 
into  each  other,  or  mentally  picture  as  one,  con- 
ceptions that  are  similar ;  not  that  either  is 
entirely  lost  in  the  other,  but  instead  there 
results  a  new  conception,  in  which  both  have 
part  and  lot.  So  when  we  read  in  "  Winter's 
Tale  "  of — 

"  Daffodils 
"  That  come  before  the  swallows  dare,  and  take 
The  winds  of  March  with  beauty." 


23 

we  mentally  picture  the  winds  of  March  as  a 
burly  Ingomar,  and  daffodils  as  a  fair  Parthe- 
nia,  by  whom  the  burly  fellow  is  enamored 
and  subdued  ;  or  conceptions  different  in  kind, 
or  at  remove  from  each  other,  are  brought 
together  because  of  a  subtile  similarity  between 
them.  Remembering,  then,  that  the  Poet  is 
distinguished  from  other  artists  by  the  material 
in  which  he  works,  namely,  language,  we 
might  write,  and  this  is  the  final  form  of  our 
definition  :  Poet)')'  is  the  expressing  of  thought 
by  means  of  figure,  by  the  substitution  of  the 
concrete  for  the  abstract,  or  by  the  bringing 
together  or  combining  of  conceptions  at  retnove 
because  of  a  similarity  between  them,  tJuts 
creating  a  new  conception.  This  the  creation 
of  the  Poet  ?  This  the  transfiguration  of 
Mr.  Austin? 

It  will  be  remembered,  that  Messrs. 
Arnold  and  Austin  developed  a  sort  of  corol- 
lary to  their  fundamental  proposition,  and  for 
greater  convenience  in  determining  the  com- 
parative merits  of  a  poet's  genius  or  work, 
let  us  do  likewise,  expediting  the  discussion, 
as  before,  by  comparing  examples  of  unequal 


24 

merit,  in  which  the  same  scene  or  conception 
is  treated.     Take  the  Hnes  already  quoted  : 

"  But  look  the  morn  in  russet  mantle  clad 
Walks  o'er  the  dew  of  yon  high  eastern  hill." 

Hamlet. 

"  Full  many  a  glorious  morning  have  I  seen 
Flatter  the  mountain-top  with  sovereign  eye." 

jjd  Sonnet. 

In  both  of  these  morn  is  transfigured,  or 
represented  imaginatively,  and  yet  with  what 
differing  skill.  In  the  first,  the  idea  of  pro- 
gression, which  is  associated  with  our  con- 
ceptions of  morn,  is  readily  transposed  into 
walking,  an  action  associated  with  our  con- 
ceptions of  man ;  adding  to  this  the  brilliant 
coloring  of  the  dawn,  the  Poet  ushers  in  the 
morn  as  a  courtier  gay,  walking  o'er  the  but 
now  night-kissed  hills.  But  though  in  this 
the  remove  between  morn  and  courtier  is  con- 
siderable, yet  how  much  greater  is  it  in  the 
second  example.  What  a  charge  is  brought 
against  the  morn  !  Its  rosy  tipping  of  the  hills  is 
^'flattering  the  nwiintain-top"  Even  if  the 
poet  had  stopped    at   this,    the    remove    and 


25 

poetic  merit  would  have  been  iiifuiitely 
greater  than  in  the  previous  example  ;  but 
notice,  that  as  each  under  eye  is  flattered  if 
the  king  but  deigns  to  look  at  them,  so  morn 

"  Flatters  the  mountain-top  with  soz'c-rt-i^n  cvi-." 

May  we  not  then  conclude,  that  poetic  merit 
or  genius  must,  in  part,  be  measured  b}'  the 
remove  between  the  conceptions  brought  to- 
gether in  his  creations? 

But  what  of  the  other  variable  in  our 
problem,  namely,  similarity  ?  For  answer  let 
us  turn  to  Shakespeare's  2d  Sonnet : 

"  When  forty  winters  shall  besiege  thy  brow 
And  dig  deep  trenches  in  thy  beauty's  field, 
Thy  youth's  proud  livery  so  gazed  on  now 
Will  be  a  tattered  weed  of  small  worth  held." 

In  this,  as  the  succeeding  points  of  simi- 
larity between  the  conceptions, — a  face  assailed 
by  time,  and  the  siege  of  a  city, — are  sug- 
gested ;  time  and  the  assailants — wrinkles  ;  and 
the  trenches  of  the  besieging  party;  the  bril- 
liant color  of  youth;  and  the  gay  livery  of 
the  defending  soldiers ;  the  fusion  and  trans- 


26 


figuration  increases,  till  it  seems  almost  com- 
plete, or  the  Poetry  varies,  not  alone  with  the 
remove,  but  with  the  similarity  as  well.  Hence 
we  may  write  :  TJie  greatest  Poetry  is  the  result 
of  inaxiinuin  remroe  ivitJi  niaxlmuin  similarity, 
or  it  is  the  parabola  of  thought  in  whose  equa- 
tion we  may  substitute  for  x  and  y,  remove  and 
similarity. 

But  whither  does  this  heresy  of  greater 
exactness  lead  us  ?  It  is  long  since  it  was 
written,  that  unity  in  variety  is  the  essential 
condition  of  all  beauty ;  and  modern  phi- 
losophy, putting  this  in  other  terms,  has 
written  :  "  The  primitive  source  of  aesthetic 
pleasure  is  that  character  in  the  combination 
which  makes  it  such  as  to  exercise  the  facul- 
ties affected  in  the  most  complete  ways,  with 
the  fewest  drawbacks  from  excessive  exer- 
cise ;"  or,  in  the  terms  of  the  older  dictum,  the 
greater  the  variety  the  greater  the  exercise ; 
this  carried  too  far  would  fatigue  the  faculties, 
aud  as  a  preventative  of  this  we  have  unity, 
which  enables  the  mind  to  grasp  the  concep- 
tion of  form  or  aught  else  with  less  effort ;  or 
we  have  as  the  general  condition — maximum 


27 

exercise  with  minimum  fatigue.  Returning  to 
our  corollary,  it  will  hardly  be  necessary  to 
show  that  in  maximum  remove  ^\■e  have  maxi- 
mum variety  or  exercise,  and  that  in  maximum 
similarit}'  we  have  maximum  unicy  or  minimum 
fatigue,  and  hence,  that  Poetry  is  one  w\ih  all 
beauty. 

What  shall  we  say,  then?  That  this 
reduces  Poetical  creation  to  a  mere  mechan- 
ical operation,  capable  of  being  measured  in 
terms  of  foot — pounds?  Mayhap.  Yet  would 
we  hold  that  the  position  here  taken,  if  true, 
instead  of  destroying  our  belief  in  the  creative 
genius  of  the  Poet,  strengthens  its  hands 
by  enabling  us  to  think  of  him  as  we  do  of 
the  Philosopher, — as  an  intellectual  develop- 
ment, and  not,  as  Coleridge  has  put  it,  as  an 
"  inspired  idiot ;"  for,  as  we  shall  take  occasion 
to  show.  Poet  and  Philosopher  evidence  their 
genius  in  intellectual  operations  that  are  iden- 
tical. 

Let  us  not  fear  that  in  so  doing  we  shall 
put  aside  the  veil  of  the  "  hoi}'  of  holies,"  and 
make  bare  the  fact  that  it  contains  naught  but 
the    rod    of  Aaron    and    the    pot    of  manna. 


28 


Naught  but  these  ?  And  was  there  no  mystery 
there  ?  Yea,  verily  the  mystery  of  the  wor- 
ship of  a  God  not  made  with  hands,  eternal 
in  the  heavens. 


Poet  versus  Philosopher. 

CARLYLE,  in  his  "  Heroes  and  Hero- 
Worship,"  has  maintained  that  if  a  man 
is  great  in  any  one  department  of  life, 
he  would,  of  necessity,  be  great  in  any  other 
to  which  he  might  devote  himself 

That  there  is  in  this  somewhat  of  truth 
few  will  question,  thout;h  among  the  admirers 
of  the  Poet  or  Philosopher  there  are  many 
who  would  urge,  as  its  "  rock  of  offense,"  that 
the  greatness  of  the  former  is  evidenced  in 
operations  essentially  different  from  those  upon 
which  depend  the  greatness  of  the  latter;  while 
the  devotees  of  each  will  cry  out  in  antiphonal 
response,  "  Great  is  our  god  above  all  gods  !" 

Now,  without  committing  ourselves  to 
Carlyle's    general    proposition,    we    may  yet 


30 

question  the  exactness  of  the  above  objec- 
tion, and  would  hold,  as  in  the  previous 
article,  that  the  genius  of  Poet  and  Philoso- 
pher are  alike  intellectual  developments.  Nor 
is  it  meant  by  this  that  in  some  vague  and 
indefinite  way  the  creation  of  the  Poet  is  an 
intellectual  operation,  and  that,  in  some  less 
vague  but  different  way,  the  work  of  the 
Philosopher  is  intellectual ;  but  that  both  evi- 
dence their  genius  in  mental  processes  that 
are  identical. 

We  have  heard  so  much  of  late  about  the 
wonderful  child  Induction,  that  many  have 
been  persuaded  his  elder  should  do  him  rev- 
erence. Indeed,  so  largely  has  this  notion 
obtained,  that  the  genius  of  the  Philosopher  is 
evidenced  in  his  induction,  that  it  has  com- 
pelled a  protest  from  one  whose  "  philosophic 
sagacity  "  few  will  question. 

In  his  "  Use  and  Limits  of  the  Imagination 
in  Science,"  page  53,  Professor  Tyndall  says: 
"  Thus  the  vocation  of  the  true  experimentalist 
may  be  defined  as  the  continued  exercise  of 
spiritual  insight,  and  its  incessant  correction 
and  realization.     His  experiments  constitute  a 


3' 

body  of  which  his  purified  intuitions  are  as  it 
were  the  soul."  Or,  according  to  this,  the 
genius  of  the  Philosopher  is  displayed,  not  in 
the  checking  of  his  inferences,  not  in  his  In- 
duction, but  in  the  inferences  themselves ;  in 
his  "spiritual  insight,"  his  "purified intuitions." 
But  writers  of  this  ilk  are  not  apt  to  content 
themselves  with  such  vague  terms,  and  so  we 
find  him  asking  on  page  i6:  "  How,  then,  are 
those  hidden  things  to  be  revealed  ?  We  are 
gifted  with  the  power  of  hnagination,  and  by 
this  power  we  can  lighten  the  darkness  which 
surrounds  the  world  of  sense.  Bounded  and 
conditioned  by  Co-operant  Reason,  Imagina- 
tion becomes  the  mightiest  instrument  of  the 
physical  discoverer.  Newton's  passage  from 
a  falling  apple  to  a  falling  moon  was  at  the 
outset  a  leap  of  the  Imagination^ 

Here  we  have  a  somewhat  more  definite 
term  than  "  spiritual  insight  "  or  "  purified  in- 
tuitions," and  we  all  realize,  in  a  general  way, 
that,  in  the  exercise  of  this  faculty  of  Imagina- 
tion, we  imagine,  or  mentally  i)icture,  some- 
thing with  which  we  arc  not  familiar.  But 
let  us  not  anticipate  ourselves;  and  since  it  is 


32 

our  desire  out  of  its  own  mouth  to  convict 
Philosophy,  we  will  again  subpoena  a  not  un- 
willing witness.  Mr.  Spencer,  in  his  "  Princi- 
ples of  Psychology,"  Vol.  II.,  page  534,  in 
speaking  of  Imagination,  says  :  "  When  con- 
sciousness is  habitually  occupied  with  greatly 
involved  aggregates  of  ideas  which  cohere 
with  other  such  aggregates  of  ideas  that  are 
very  various  and  not  very  strong,  there  arises 
a  possibility  of  covibining  them  in  waj's  not 
given  in  experience.  Gaining  greater  freedom 
as  it  reaches  the  advanced  stages  of  com- 
plexity and  multiformity,  thought  acquires  an 
excursiveness  such  that  with  the  aid  of  slight 
suggestions — slight  impulses  from  accidental 
circumstances — its  highly  composite  states 
enter  into  combinations  never  before  formed ; 
and  so  there  result  conceptions  which  zve  catl 
original^  Or  Imagination — in  the  exercise 
of  which,  according  to  Mr.  Tyndall,  the  Phi- 
losopher displays  his  genius — is,  according  to 
Mr.  Spencer,  a  combining  of  conceptions,  thus 
creating  a  so-called  original  conception,  or  one 
not  given  in  experience. 

But  how  is  this  combination  effected  ?     It 


33 

is  hardly  a  satisfactory  answer  to  say,  as  above, 
that  it  is  due  to  "  slight  impulses  from  acci- 
dental causes,"  and  one  cannot  but  wonder 
that  a  writer  usually  so  exact  should  content 
himself  with  this,  especially  when  on  page  28 1 
of  the  same  volume  he  has  written  :  "  From 
the  most  complex  and  most  abstract  inferences 
down  to  the  most  rudimentary  intuitions,  all 
intelligence  proceeds  by  the  establishment  of 
relations  of  likeness  and  unlikeness."  Accept 
this,  and  it  follows  then,  as  night  the  day,  that 
the  combination  effected  in  the  imagination  of 
the  Philosopher  is  due  to  his  recognition  of  a 
similarity  between  phenomena. 

Newton's  leap  of  imagination  was  not 
from  an  apple  to  a  moon,  but  from  a  falliug 
apple  to  d.  falling  moon,  or,  as  he  himself  has 
said  :  "  There  is  a  certain  style  " — method 
or  similarity — "  in  the  operations  of  divine 
wisdom,  in  the  perception  of  which  philo- 
sophical sagacity  and  genius  seem  chiefl\'  to 
consist." 

May  we  not,  then,  write  that  the  Philoso- 
pher evidences  his  genius  in  the  exercise  of 
his   Imagination  ;  in  the  bringing  together  or 


34 

combining  of  conceptions  at  remove,  by  means 
of  similarity,  thus  creating  a  new  conception  ? 

That  the  Poet  is  of  "  Imagination  all  com- 
pact "  is  generally  recognized;  but  that  the 
identity  of  his  intellectual  process  with  that  of 
the  Philosopher  may  be  beyond  question,  let 
us  turn  to  the  definition  developed  in  the 
previous  article  :  Poetry  is  the  expressing  of 
thought  by  means  of  figure,  by  the  substitution 
of  the  concrete  for  the  abstract,  or  by  the  bring- 
ing together  or  combining  of  conceptions  at 
remove,  because  of  a  similarity  between  them, 
thus  creating  a  new  conception  ;  or  both  Poet 
and  Philosopher  evidence  their  genius  in  the 
combining  of  conceptions  at  remove  by  means 
of  similarity." 

In  what,  then,  do  they  differ?  eventually,  it 
may  be,  in  this  :  from  one  we  derive  pleasure, 
and  from  the  other  profit ;  but  fundamentally, 
in  the  fact,  that  while  the  Philosopher  seeks 
after  the  truth  lest  haply  he  might  find  it,  the 
Poet's  only  endeavor  is  to  make  that  truth 
which  he  apprehends  present  to  the  minds  of 
others. 

'Tis  true  the  former  wishing  to  convey  his 


35 

subtilties  to  others  is  ofttinies  compelled  to 
express  them  in  concrete  terms,  thus  poaching 
upon  the  fair  preserve  of  the  Poet ;  but  in 
general,  anxious  that  he  shall  con\^ey  the  truth 
and  nothing  but  the  truth,  the  Philosopher 
avoids  this  trespass.  Confining  himself  to  the 
abstract,  scientific,  or  prose  method  of  express- 
incr  thoucjht,  he  writes  as  we  have  seen  :  "  Life 
is  the  continuous  adjustment  of  internal  rela- 
tions to  external  relations." 
While  the  Poet  writes  : 

"  Life  like  a  dome  of  many-colored  glass, 
Stains  the  white  radiance  of  Eternity." 

But  while  thus  differing  in  purpose,  and 
in  the  mode  of  expressing  thought,  yet,  since 
both  evidence  their  genius  by  the  same  intel- 
lectual operation,  it  follows,  that  any  test  of 
the  greatness  of  one  is  equally  applicable  to 
the  other.  If  it  be  true,  as  developed  in  a  pre- 
vious article,  that  in  poetic  creation,  the  great- 
est is  that  in  wliich  we  have  maximum  remove 
together  with  maximum  similarity,  then  must 
this  be  likewise  true  of  philosophic  insight, 
sagacity  or  genius. 


36 

But  though  we  estabhsh  the  same  test 
for  both,  yet  will  some  find  it  hard  to  decide 
which  they  would  rather  have  written,  the 
Sonnets  of  Shakespeare  or  the  Principia  of 
Newton.  For  if  it  be  granted,  as  Mr.  Spencer 
has  maintained,  that  intellectual  development 
is  measured  by  the  degree  of  re-presentation, 
the  abstraction,  the  subtilty  of  the  thoughts 
entertained,  then  might  it  be  urged,  that  though 
the  Philosopher  has  done  marvellous  things 
amid  the  subtilties  of  matter  and  force,  with 
their  resultant — motion, — he  has  hardly  as  yet 
dared  the  greater  subtilties  of  motive  and  char- 
acter, with  their  resultant — action, — the  "  mis- 
sing science  "  of  a  recent  writer.  In  the  mean- 
time, the  never-ceasing  prelude  of  all  science, 
— Art — has  for  generations  past,  in  the  person 
of  the  Dramatic  Poet,  been  dealing  with  these 
greater  subtilties. 

But  in  questions  touching  us  so  nearly, 
it  is  difficult  to  preserve  that  mental  equipoise 
or  elevation,  that  will  enable  us  to  see 
both  sides  of  a  truth  with  equal  clearness. 
Hence,  fearing  dogmatism  more  than  error, 
let  us  for  the  present  content  ourselves  with 


37 

the  assumption,  that  so  far  as  intellect  is  con- 
cerned, he  who  wrote  the  Sonnets  might  have 
written  the  Principia,  and  he  who  wrote  the 
Principia  might  have  written  the  Sonnets. 

The  reservation — so  far  as  intellect  is  con- 
cerned— is,  however,  a  recognition  of  this 
important  fact,  that  while  the  Philosopher  and 
Poet  evidence  their  genius  by  the  same  intel- 
lectual operation,  yet  their  difference  in  purpose 
results  in  a  difference  in  the  general  nervous 
condition  under  which  their  intellects  operate. 
One  is  without  all  shows  and  forms  of  emotion, 
while  the  other  does  his  best  work  under  the 
stimulus  of  emotion  or  other  nervous  excite- 
ment. 

It  is  related  of  the  actor,  McCready,  that 
before  entering  upon  a  scene  in  which  he  had 
to  portray  intense  passion,  he  raced  around 
behind  the  flies  so  that  by  the  energy  of  his 
motion,  he  might  stimulate  himself  up  to  the 
portrayal  of  such  passion.  Now  it  seems  not 
improbable,  that  the  Poet  ofttimes  adoj^ts  a 
similar  method  ;  not  necessarily  i:)h\'sical  ac- 
tion, but  in  some  way  like  actor  and  orator 
he  must,  to  use  a  homely  phrase,  warm  up  to 


38 

his  subject,  in  order  to  write  his  more  impas- 
sioned lines. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  imagination  of  the 
Philosopher,  cribbed,  cabined  and  confined  as 
it  is  by  his  Induction,  by  the  necessity  to 
check  his  inferences,  lacks  this  stimulus ;  but 
having  it,  who  shall  say  by  what  lengths  such 
running  leaps  of  his  imagination  would  dis- 
tance its  present  standing  jumps. 

In  this  warming  up  to  his  subject,  this 
stimulating  of  the  Poet's  mind  in  order  to  write 
his  more  impassioned  lines,  we  have  the  soul 
of  truth  in  the  absurd  notion  that,  in  order 
to  write  great  Poetry,  we  need  only  to  feel 
deeply.  Absurd,  because  great  Poetry  neces- 
sitates not  only  deep  feeling  to  stimulate  the 
mind,  but  far  more  than  this,  that  the  intellect 
so  stimulated  should  be  great. 

So  confused  are  the  prevailing  ideas  in 
this  regard,  that  many  have  come  to  think  of 
the  Poet,  as  an  "  inspired  idiot,"  waiting  for  the 
visitation  of  some  wandering  muse.  It  is  doubt- 
less true  that  the  Poet's  mind  maybe  stimulated 
to  such  a  degree  as  to  be  unconscious  of  the 
effort  put  forth  in  its  creation  ;  nevertheless. 


39 

these  creations  are,  as  we  have  seen,  the  pro- 
duct of  the  same  intellectual  action  as  that  in 
which  the  Philosopher  evidences  his  genius. 

It  were  hardly  well  to  close  this  article 
without  noticing  statemei  ts  that  have  of  late 
appeared  with  increased  frequency ;  namely, 
that  the  decrease  of  picture-words,  or  the  in- 
crease of  abstract  terms  in  language,  is  evi- 
dence that  Poetr)^  has  fallen  in  "  the  sere  and 
yellow  leaf,"  or  that  the  present  unparalleled 
strides  of  science  are  for  Poetry  "  the  prelude 
to  the  omen  coming  on." 

Those  who  have  followed  the  argument 
thus  far  will  realize  howfarthis  is  from  the  truth  ; 
for  not  only  is  it  true  that  the  higher  the  Poetry 
the  more  subtile  the  abstractions  dealt  with,  but 
the  more  abstract  are  the  terms  employed,  or 
with  the  growing  abstraction  in  language, 
Poetry  does  of  necessity  keep  pace.  Take  the 
following  lines  from  Shakespeare's  "  Lucrece:" 

"  Her  lily  hand,  her  rosy  cheek  lies  under, 
Co::e)iing  the  pillow  of  a  lawful  kiss." 

It  is  manifest  that  the  first  line,  with  its  piclL;re 
words,  lily  hand,  rosy  cheek,  is,  in  poetic  merit, 


40 

infinitely  inferior  to  the  second  line,  where  pil- 
low begs  cheek,  his  mistress,  for  a' lover's  fee, 
while  hand,  pale,  cozening  rogue,  yea,  ermine 
clad,  does  bar  the  owner  of  his  rights. 

So,  too,  it  goes  for  the  saying,  that  the 
thought  or  conception  expressed  is  more  sub- 
tile, and  the  term  "  cozening,"  on  which  the 
great  beauty  of  the  second  line  depends,  is 
more  abstract  than  any  term  in  the  first  line  ; 
or,  in  a  general  way,  the  higher  the  Poetry 
the  more  subtile  is  the  thought,  and  the  more 
abstract  the  terms  employed.  Again,  turn  to 
Wordsworth's  sonnet  on  "Mutability,"  in 
which  one  can  almost  fancy  an  adumbration  of 
the  farthest  reaches  of  the  modern  teaching  of 
evolution. 

"  From  low  to  high  doth  dissolution  climb, 
And  sinks  from  high  to  low  along  a  scale 
Of  awful  notes,  whose  concord  shall  not  fail, 
A  musical  but  melancholy  chime, 
Which  they  can  hear  who  meddle  not  with  crime 
Nor  avarice  nor  over-anxious  care." 

When  has  the  melancholy  music  of  the 
eternal  cycles  of  evolution  and  dissolution  been 


41 

more  bravely  chanted?  Yea,  though  chaos  is 
come  again, 

"  Truth  fails  not ;  though  her  outward  forms  that  bear 
The  longest  date  do  melt  like  frosty  rime, 
That  in  the  morning  whitened  hill  and  plain 
And  is  no  more  ;  drop  like  the  tower  sublime 
Of  yesterday,  which  royally  did  wear 
Its  crown  of  weeds,  hut  could  not  even  sustain 
Some  casual  shout  that  broke  the  silent  air. 
Or  the  unimaginable  touch  of  time." 

How  has  the  abstract  of  yesterday  become  the 
concrete  of  to-day  ;  yea,  though  science  stride 
never  so  far.  Poetry  can  but  rejoice  in  its  advance 
since  every  discovery  of  the  former  must  needs 
become  a  coigne  of  vantage,  from  which  the  lat- 
ter will  make  yet  higher  flights.  "  Put  a  girdle 
round  the  world  in  forty  minutes  "  you  may, 
but  the  Poet's  Ariel  sprite  will  answer  make  : 

"  I  drink  the  air  before  me 
And  return." 

Yea,  though  speculation  take  to  itself  the 
wings  of  the  mornmg  and  fly  to  the  uttermost 
parts  of  space,  yet  must  it  declare  of  Poetry — 
Thou  wert  there  also. 


Repose. 


WERE  other  argument  necessary  to  prove 
that  the  character  of  the  scene,  or 
conception  which  the  Poet  seeks  to 
make  present  to  our  minds,  cannot  be  relied 
upon  as  a  measure  of  his  genius,  it  might  be 
drawn  from  the  preceding  article.  For  if  it  is 
not  in  his  observation  of  facts,  but  in  his  recog- 
nition of  the  subtile  relations  between  them,  in 
his  combination  of  them,  that  the  Philosopher 
evidences  his  genius,  how  much  more  must  it 
be  true,  that  the  Poet's  genius  is  evidenced, 
not  by  the  character  of  the  scene,  conception, 
or  thought  represented,  but  by  his  combining 
of  these  in  ways  not  given  in  experience,  thus 
creating  new  conceptions. 

Perhaps   the   mind  could   better  content 


44 

itself  with  this  if  it  could  understand  how  it  is 
that  men,  some  of  them  critics  of  unquestioned 
ability,  have  been  betrayed  into  the  belief,  that 
the  measure  of  the  Poet's  genius  is  found  in  the 
character  of  the  thought.  In  the  first  place, 
familiar  as  we  now  are  with  Poetry  in  its  more 
evolved  forms,  we  are  apt  to  regard  it  merely 
as  a  source  of  pleasure,  apt  to  lose  sight  of  its 
utilitarian  origin  in  the  desire  to  express 
thought,  and  so  are  prone  to  estimate  the 
poetic  merit  of  any  lines,  in  terms  of  the  pleas- 
ure afforded,  without  regard  as  to  how  much 
of  this  is  due  to  the  thought,  and  how  much  to 
the  figure. 

Again,  and  this  is  a  fact  calculated  to 
deceive  the  very  elect  themselves,  the  highest 
Poetry  is  ever  the  most  thoughtful,  or  is  Im- 
aginative. We  have  seen  in  the  first  article, 
that,  despite  this,  the  thought  cannot  be  relied 
upon  as  a  measure  of  poetic  excellence,  yet 
does  the  question  remain.  How  are  these  facts 
to  be  reconciled? 

Recalling  now  the  fact,  that  profound 
emotion  or  thought  may  act  as  a  stimulus 
upon  the  mind  of  the  Poet,  much  as  the  actors' 


45 

preliminary  run  behind  the  scene,  and  we  can 
readil)-  understand  why  profound  thought  may 
be,  and  ofttimes  is,  associated  with  the  highest 
Poetry.  Not  only  so,  but  if  the  conception  to 
be  represented  be  a  subtile  one,  the  possible 
remove  between  it  and  its  concrete  is  greater, 
and  hence,  greater  figure  or  Poetry  is  made 
possible.  Nevertheless,  as  we  have  seen,  the 
thought  cannot  be  relied  upon  as  a  measure 
of  the  poet's  genius. 

What  shall  we  say  then, — that  the  Poet 
should  ignore  all  pleasure  due  to  the  beauty, 
pathos,  sublimity,  etc.,  of  the  scene  or  concep- 
tion represented  ;  that  it  is  a  matter  of  indiffer- 
ence whether  these  be  pleasant  or  otherwise  ? 
Not  at  all !     When  Macbeth  says  : 

"  Here  lay  Duncan, 
His  silver  skin  lac'd  with  his  golden  blood, 
And  his  gash'd  stabs  look'd  like  a  breach  in  nature 
For  ruin's  wasteful  entrance ;  there  the  murthcrers, 
Stcep'd  in  the  colors  of  their  trade,  tJuir  daggers 
Un)nannerly  brecrh'd  luith  gore." 

Me  doubtless  gives   offense  to  some,  because 
of  the  inelegance  of  the  word  "  breeched,"  for 


46 

much  profound  criticism  has  been  called  in  to 
exorcise  this  spirit  of  evil.  "  It  is  breached," 
says  one,  "  retched  or  rusted,"  says  another ; 
and,  all  the  while,  a  most  notable  creation 
stares  them  in  the  face,  for  as  a  man's  leg  was 
covered  for  part  of  its  length  with  knee- 
breeches,  so  the  daggers  were  covered  or 
breeched  with  gore,  and  unmannerly  so,  be- 
cause it  was  the  upper  part  of  the  dagger  from 
knee  to  waist  that  was  uncovered  or  exposed. 
Now  for  the  moral  of  this  tale: — while  the 
elegance  or  inelegance,  the  pleasantness  or 
unpleasantness,  of  the  conception  "breeched," 
is  in  no  sense  a  measure  of  the  Poet's  genius, 
yet  by  so  much  as  it  offends,  it  must  diminish 
the  total  pleasure  to  be  derived  from  the  lines. 
And  as  Poetry  has  now  the  twofold  mission 
to  teach  and  to  give  pleasure,  the  Poet  in  gen- 
eral avoids  such  offenses,  and  avails  himself  of 
the  beauty,  pathos,  sublimity,  etc.,  of  the  scene 
or  conception  represented,  as  additional  sources 
of  pleasure.  Nevertheless,  he  needs  to  have  a 
care,  in  so  doing,  that  the  place  of  his  own  great 
art  is  not  usurped  by  things  of  less  repute.  Not 
only  so,  but,  as  we  hope  to  show,  in  the  highest 


47 

reaches  of  that  art  he  is  prone  to  ignore  the 
pleasure  from  these  latter  sources. 

To  that  end  note,  that  it  has  been  urged,  and 
as  a  fault  in  him,  that  Shakespeare  avoids  the 
grand,  the  sublime  in  nature.  It  is  even  said 
thai,  when  he  does  attempt  these  things,  he  is 
not  successful  in  his  treatment  of  them,  offer- 
ing as  an  instance  his  description  of  the  cliff's 
of  Dover,  lines  which  Johnson  maintains  are 
not  as  fine  as  certain  others,  which  he  quotes 
from  Congreve. 

Let  us  possess  our  souls  in  patience,  how- 
ever, for,  much  as  we  may  dislike  to  own  it, 
Johnson  is  undoubtedly  nearer  the  truth,  in 
his  estimate  of  this  particular  example,  than 
the  critic  who  indulged  in  the  bit  of  extrava- 
gance, "  he  who  can  read  this  description  with- 
out becoming  dizzy,  has  either  a  very  steady 
head  or  a  very  hard  one."  Nevertheless,  the 
general  conclusion,  that  Shakespeare  is  un- 
equal to  the  grand,  the  sublime,  etc.,  is  not  only 
without  sufficient  warrant,  but  is  a  positive 
misapprehension  of  the  facts,  resulting,  as  we 
think,  from  the  very  transcendency  of  his  skill 
in  the  handling  of  these  things. 


48 

Let  us,  however,  here  take  note  of 
another  opinion  in  regard  to  Shakespeare's 
Poetry,  which  has  obtained  even  more  largely 
than  the  above,  namely,  that  there  is  in  it  a 
marvellous  simplicity,  a  restfulness,  or,  better 
still,  a  repose  seldom  found  elsewhere.  So 
characteristic  is  this  of  his  work,  that  when 
found  in  the  lines  of  others,  men  speak  of 
them  as  Shakespearean,  as  when  Milton  says : 

"  Such  sweet  compulsion  doth  in  music  he," 

or  Shelley  tells  of  clouds  that  wander  in  thick 
flocks  along  the  mountains. 

"  Shepherded  by  the  slow,  unwilling  wind." 

Again,  when  Wordsworth,  in  one  of  his  most 
exquisite  lines,  speaks  of  a  spray  of  autumn 
leaves  as 

"  October's  workmanship  to  rival  May," 

or  Keats,  in  his  last  sonnet  sees, 

"  The  moving  waters  at  their  priest-like  task 
Of  pure  ablutions,  around  earth's  human  shores." 

That  there  is  in  all  of  these  somewhat  of 
that  repose  which  men  regard  as  characteristic 


49 

of  Shakespeare's  Poetry  will  doubtless  be 
granted ;  but,  to  what  is  this  repose  due  ? 
Possibh'  it  will  help  us  in  this  int^uiry,  if,  in- 
stead of  the  above  lines,  in  which  different 
subjects  are  treated,  we  consider  others  in 
which  the  theme  remains  the  same,  while  the 
degree  of  repose  varies.  This  is  true  of  the 
following,  in  which  Shelley,  Milton  and  Shake- 
speare severally  celebrate  the  beauties  of  a 
moonlit  night : 

"  How  beautiful  this  night !  the  balmiest  sigh, 
Which  vernal  zephyrs  breathe  in  evening's  ear 
Were  discord  to  the  speaking  quietude 
That  wraps  this  moveless  scene.     Heaven's  ebon 

vault 
Studded  with  stars  unutterably  bright, 
Through   which  the  moon's  unclouded  grandeur 

rolls. 

Seems  like  a  canopy  which  love  has  spread 

To  curtain  her  sleeping  world." 

Qitccn  Mab,  IV. 

"  Now  came  still  evening  on,  and  twilight  grey 
Had  in  her  sober  livery  all  things  clad  ; 
Silence  accompanied  ;  for  beast  and  bird, 
They  to  their  grassy  couch,  these  to  their  nest 
Were  slunk  ;  all  but  the  wakeful  nightingale, 
She  all  night  long  her  amorous  descant  sung. 


50 

Silence  was  pleased  ;  now  glowed  the  firmament 
With  living  sapphires  ;  Hesperus,  that  led 
The  starry  host,  rode  brightest  till  the  moon 
Rising  in  clouded  majesty  at  length, 
Apparent  queen,  unveiled  her  peerless  light, 
And  o'er  the  dark  her  silver  mantle  threw  "  ^ 

Paradise  Lost,  Book  IV. 

"  How  sweet  the  moonlight  sleeps  upon  this  bank. 
Here  will  we  sit  and  let  the  sound  of  music 
Creep  in  our  ears.     Soft  stillness  and  the  night 
Become  the  touches  of  sweet  harmony. 
Sit,  Jessica.     Look  how  the  floor  of  heaven 
Is  thick  inlaid  with  patines  of  bright  gold. 
There's  not  the  smallest  orb  which  thou  beholdest 
But  in  its  motion  like  an  angel  sings. 
Still  quiring  to  the  young-eyed  cherubim." 

MercJiant  of  Venice. 

That  of  these  the  first  shall  be  last,  and 
the  last  shall  be  first,  all  criticism  will  agree; 
Mr.  Hallam  going  so  far  as  to  say  of  the  last, 
that  it  is  perhaps  the  most  sublime  passage 
in  Shakespeare.  However  that  may  be,  the 
question  of  immediate  interest  for  us  is :  What 
difference  is  there  in  the  structure  of  the  above 
corresponding  to  the  acknowledged  difference 
in  Repose  and  poetic  merit? 


51 

Did  we  but  compare  the  treatment  of  the 
moon  in  the  line, 

"  How  sweet  the  moonlight  sleeps  upon  this  bank," 

with  that  in  the  line, 

"  Through  which  the  moon's  unclouded  grandeur 
rolls," 

we  miglit  conclude  with  Emerson,  and  man)- 
others,  that  "  good  poetry  is  always  personifi- 
cation," or,  as  Matthew  Arnold  has  somewhere 
written,  "  in  Shakespeare's  poetry  all  things 
live,"  and  so  be  led  to  infer  that  in  this  we  have 
the  ultimate  fact  of  its  characteristic  repose. 

But  when  we  compare  the  picturing  of 
stars  as  patincs  of  bright  gold,  and  as  living 
sapphires,  though  the  greater  Repose  and 
poetic  merit  of  the  former  be  unquestioned  in 
•  our  mind,  yet  are  we  not  so  clear  as  to  the 
presence  of  more  or  greater  life,  certainl}'  not 
in  the  form  of  a  personification,  or  while  the 
above  test  is  unquestionably  big  with  truth  ; 
yet  is  there  some  more  general  truth  b)-  which 
this  is  included. 

Notice,  then,  that  tlic  sky,  which  to  .Shelley 


52 

is  an  "  ebon  vault "  of  cathedral  grand,  is  to 
Shakespeare  but  the  ''floor  of  heaven ; "  and 
the  stars,  that  Milton  sees  as  living  sapphires, 
are  in  greater  hands  but  "  patines  of  bright 
gold "  with  which  the  young-eyed  cherubim 
might  play ;  while  the  moon  neither  rises  in 
clouded  majesty  nor  in  unclouded  grandeur 
rolls,  but,  instead,  the  moonlight  sleeps,  and 
that,  too,  as  sweetly  as  a  new-born  babe.  Is  it 
not,  then,  manifest,  that  while  they  picture 
these  things  as  full  grown,  majestic,  grand,  or 
imposing,  depending  in  part  upon  this  grandeur 
for  their  effect  upon  us,  he  presents  them  in 
the  swaddling  clothes  of  a  child-like  simplicity, 
depending  upon  his  combination  of  conceptions 
at  great  remove  for  his  effect. 

We  have  already  learned  in  our  corollary, 
that,  other  things  being  equal,  the  greater  the 
remove  between  the  conceptions,  the  greater  « 
the  poetic  merit ;  and  it  needs  but  a  glance  at 
the  above  figures  to  reveal  the  fact  that  while 
between  sky  and  ebon  vault,  stars  and  living 
sapphires,  moon  and  queen,  the  remove  is 
considerable,  yet  is  the  remove,  and  with  it 
the  poetic  merit,  infinitely  increased  by  substi- 


53 

tuting  in  the  above  tlie  conceptions,  floor, 
patines,  and  sleeping  child.  Nor  is  it,  as 
might  at  first  sight  appear,  necessary  to  this 
great  remove,  or  to  the  highest  Poetry,  that 
one  of  the  two  conceptions  brought  together 
should  be  of  something  grand,  etc.  We  do 
not  in  general  so  regard  the  conception,  even- 
ing; yet  is  it  in  the  hands  of  Milton  moulded 
into  a  shape  marvellous  in  its  Repose  and 
poetic  beauty : 

"  Now  comes  still  evening  on,  and  twilight  grey 
Hath  in  her  sober  livery  all  things  clad." 

How  the   chaste  beauty  of  this   Puritan 

maid  does  turn  to  a  glory  the   conventional 

garments   of  her   sect, — the   twilight's    sober 

livery   that   all   things   clad.     And    so,   while 

there  is  undoubtedly  the  breath  of  inspiration 

in 

"  The  bahniest  sigh 

Which  vernal  zephyrs  breathe  in  evening's  ear," 

yet,  as  compared  with  Milton's  evening,  we 
have  in  this  but  the  perturbed  beauty  of  a 
Phryne  whose  scant  robes  do  more  reveal 
than  is  well-seeming. 


54 

Again,  the  conception  of  quiet,  silence, 
or  stillness  is  hardly  such  as  we  would  call 
grand  or  majestic,  and  yet  it  enters  into  com- 
binations of  all  degrees  of  remove  : 

"  The  speaking  quietude  that  wraps  this  moveless 
scene  ;  " 

or,  better  still,  when  the  nightingale  her  amo- 
rous descant  sung  by  silence  accompanied  ;  or, 
greater  than  all  these,  when  Lorenzo  says  : 

"  Here  will  we  sit  and  let  the  sound  of  music 
Creep  in  our  ears ;  soft  stillness  and  the  night 
Become  the  touches  of  sweet  harmony  ;  " 

as  the  twilight's  sober  livery,  the  Puritan 
maid  of  Milton  ;  surely  the  grand  or  majestic 
hath  neither  part  nor  lot  in  the  marvellous 
Repose  and  remove  of  this  creation.  Or  we 
find  that  any  intangible  "  airy  nothing  "  which 
the  poet's  pen  would  turn  to  shapes  will  make 
possible  the  general  condition  of  great  remove. 
So  while  the  Poet  may  avail  himself  of 
whatever  pleasure  he  can  draw  from  the  beauty, 
pathos,  sublimity,  etc.,  of  the  scene  or  concep- 
tion represented,  yet  in  the  highest  reaches  of 


55 

his  art,  where  striving  gives  place  to  Repose, 
he  seems  almost  to  ignore  the  pleasure  from 
this  source,  sacrificing  it  to  the  pleasure  due 
to  his  own  great  creations.  Conscious  of  his 
power  to  compel  all  things  to  his  will,  he  toys 
with  the  universe,  makes  light  of  all  material 
things,  and  leaves  upon  his  work  an  impress 
of  that  Repose  zvliich  is  manifested,  when,  in 
representing  seenes  or  conceptions  of  great 
beauty,  pathos,  subliniity,  etc.,  the  Poet  depends 
for  his  effect,  not  upon  these  things,  but  upon 
the  remove  and  similarity  of  the  conceptions 
brought  together,  or  upon  the  greatness  of  his 
oivn  art,  creations  or  figures. 

It  will  hardly  be  necessar\',  now,  to  show 
how  erroneous  is  the  assumption  that  Shake- 
speare is  unequal  to  the  grand,  etc.  Take  the 
lines  from  Henry  IV.,  which  Mr.  Arnold,  I 
think,  quotes  to  show  that  in  Shakespeare's 
poetry  all   things  live  : — 

"  O  sleep  I  O  gentle  sleep  ; 
Nature's  soft  nurse,  how  have  I  frighted  thee. 
Wih  thou,  upon  the  high  and  giddy  mast, 
Seal  up  the  sea-boy's  eyes  and  rock  his  brains 
In  the  cradle  of  the  rude  imperious  surge. 


56 

And  in  the  visitation  of  the  winds, 
Who  take  the  ruffian  billows  by  the  top, 
Curling  their  monstrous  heads  and  hanging  them 
"With  deafening  clamor  in  the  slippery  clouds. 
That  with  the  hurly  death  itself  awakes." 

Truly  may  it  be  said,  that  in  this  Poet's 
hands  all  things  do  live  and  have  their  being  ; 
breathing  into  them  the  breath  of  life,  he 
brings  together  conceptions  at  such  remove, 
that  the  imposing  character  of  wind  and  wave 
is  lost  in  the  o'er-topping  grandeur  of  the 
Poet's  creations ;  and  yet  "  he  whose  imperial 
muse  tosses  creation  like  a  bauble,"  he  who, 
by  his  most  potent  art,  the  strong-based  pro- 
montory made  shake ;  bedimmed  the  noon- 
tide sun  ;  called  forth  the  mutinous  winds,  and 
twixt  the  green  sea  and  azure  vault  set  roaring 
water,  is,  they  tell  us,  unequal  to  such  things. 
Nay,  rather  is  it  true  that  he  has  realized,  as 
no  other  Poet  has,  that  neither  mountain  nor 
meadow  ;  height  nor  depth ;  things  past  nor 
things  to  come,  are  necessary  to  the  highest 
poetry ;  but  that  the  genius  of  the  Poet,  like 
that  of  the  Philosopher,  depends  upon  his 
insight  into  the  subtile  relations  between  the 


57 

phenomena  of  life  and  nature,  and  hence  may 
find  full  play  amid  the  homeliest  and  least 
romantic  things  of  this  work-a-day  world.  To 
one  so  gifted,  the  barest  room  is  crowded  with 
possible  suggestions  of  the  greatest  Poetry ;  a 
key,  the  chest  it  unlocks,  a  coat,  or  a  closet 
in  which  it  hangs,  all  things  whatsoever,  may 
by  a  sweet  compulsion  be  made  to  serve  his 
will,  and  become  the  local  habitation  of  some 
airy  nothing. 

"  So  am  I  as  the  rich  whose  blessed  kty 
Can  bring  him  to  his  up-locked  treasure. 
The  which  he  will  not  every  hour  survey, 

For  blunting  the  fine  point  of  seldom  pleasure." 

"  So  is  the  time  that  keeps  you  as  my  chest, 

Or  as  the  wardrobe  which  the  robe  doth  hide, 
To  make  some  special  instant  special  blest 
By  new  unfolding  his  imprisoned  pride." 

^2d  Sonnet. 

Here  we  are  enabled  to  lay  hands  on  the 
soul  of  truth  in  the  cry,  that  has  gone  up  of 
late,  that  American  Poetry  should  be  Ameri- 
can, for  while  it  is  undoubtedly  true  that  men 
may    write    great    Poetry    about   scenes    and 


58 

incidents  from  the  days  of  chivalry  or  an- 
tiquity, yet  is  it  equally  true  of  these,  as  of 
the  beautiful,  the  sublime,  etc.,  that  in  the 
highest  reaches  of  his  art  the  Poet  ignores 
them  all.  Let  us  close  with  the  following 
lines  from  Emerson,  whom  we  cannot  quote 
too  often: 

"  'Tis  easy  to  repaint  the  mythology  of 
the  Greeks,  or  of  the  Catholic  Church,  the 
feudal  castle,  the  crusade,  the  martyrdom  of 
Mediaeval  Europe  ;  but  to  point  out  where 
the  same  creative  force  is  now  working  in  our 
own  houses  and  public  assemblies  to  convert 
the  vivid  energies  acting  at  this  hour  in  New 
York  and  Chicago  and  San  Francisco,  into 
ujiivcrsal  symbols,  requires  a  subtile  and  com- 
mandincr  thoueht." 


Healthfulness. 

DOES  it  seem  a  work  of  supererogation  to 
seek  for  a  definition  of  healthfulness  ? 
Note,  then,  what  Mr.  Matthew  Arnold 
has  written :  "  As  compared  with  Leopardi, 
Wordsworth,  though  at  many  points  less  lucid, 
though  far  less  a  master  of  style,  fer  less  an 
artist,  gains  so  much  by  his  criticisin  of  life 
being,  in  certain  matters  of  profound  impor- 
tance, healthful  and  true,  whereas  Leopardi 's 
pessimism  is  not  that  the  value  of  Wordsworth's 
poetry,  on  the  whole,  stands  higher  for  us  than 
that  of  Leopardi." 

Note,  too,  that  to  this  Mr.  Alfred  Austin, 
a  critic  of  no  mean  ability,  takes  exception. 
declaring  that  "  there  is  no  con.sensus  either 
among   poets  or   their   readers   as  to  what   is 


6o 


true  and  healthful  criticism  of  life,"  Grant 
this,  and  it  is  manifest  that  a  definition  of 
healthfulness,  is  impossible,  since  all  definition 
must  find  its  ultimate  basis  in  the  substantial 
agreement  of  men.  That  there  are  differences 
of  opinion  none  will  question,  but  if,  as  Mr. 
Austin  has  written,  criticism  of  life  is  passing 
judgment  upon  life,  or,  better  still,  is  philoso- 
phy of  life,  does  it  not  appear  a  strange  state- 
ment that  no  consensus  should  exist  in  regard 
to  the  healthfulness  of  this  philosophy  of  life  ? 
Take  his  own  definition  that  "  Poetry  is  a 
transfiguration  of  life,"  and  is  it  not  manifest 
that  the  transfiguration  will  be  more  or  less 
modified  by  the  Poet's  estimate,  criticism,  or 
philosophy  of  life ;  will  be  healthful  or  other- 
wise, according  as  his  views  of  life  are  health- 
ful or  the  reverse  ?  This,  mind  you,  is  far  from 
saying  that  the  healthfulness  of  the  philosophy 
contained  in  any  lines  is  the  measure  of  their 
poetic  merit,  our  position  on  this  being  already 
clearly  defined ;  but  that  there  is  some  sub- 
stantial agreement  as  to  what  is  a  true  and 
healthful  criticism  or  philosophy  of  life  there 
can  be  no  question. 


6i 

Nay,  more ;  for  though  men  may  be  at  odds 
as  to  the  comparative  healthfuhiess  of  Byron, 
Shelley  and  Wordsworth  ;  yet  are  they  just  as 
certainly  agreed  that  in  this  regard  Shakespeare 
stands  head  and  shoulders  over  all. 

What  then  is  the  basis  of  this  agreement? 
What  sins  of  omission  or  commission  are 
chargeable  to  Byron,  Shelley  and  Wordsworth, 
of  which  Shakespeare  is  innocent  ? 

Answer  might  be  made,  that  many  hold 
Byron  to  be  unheal thful  because  pessimistic,  im- 
moral, sensational,  unrefined,  etc.  The  ills  of  life, 
and  the  failure  of  established  institutions,  mar- 
riage, religion,  etc.,  are  shown,  not  as  they  are, 
but  in  exaggerated  dimensions,  while  the  good 
of  these  things  is  belittled.  Again,  courage,  ad- 
dress, etc.,  are  shown,  not  merely  as  admirable  in 
their  way,  but  are  blazoned  forth  in  such  strong 
light  as  to  blur  your  impression  of  the  less  sensa- 
tional virtues,  faithfulness  to  marriage  vows, 
content,  etc.  Violence  is  done  our  instinctive 
refinement,  not  by  the  mention  of  things  usually 
considered  unmentionable,  but  by  the  placing 
of  them  in  abnormal  and  unseemly  juxtaposi- 
tion with  the  fairest,  sweetest  things  in  life. 


62 


So,  too,  in  regard  to  Shelley's  Poetry, 
while  it  is  seldom  or  never  unrefined,  yet,  like 
Byron,  it  at  times  belittles  or  subverts  the  best  in 
life,  or  is  pessimistic,  immoral,  sensational,  etc. 

Such  a  list  of  offenses,  however,  is  hardly 
satisfactory  as  criterion  of  healthfulness,  im- 
plying, as  it  does,  a  certain  flagrance,  while 
as  a  matter  of  fact  a  Poet  may  be  innocent  on 
each  and  all  of  the  above  counts,  and  yet,  to 
the  minds  of  many,  fail  somewhat  of  perfect 
healthfulness.  In  dealing  with  the  relations 
between  the  sexes  he  may  tend  to  ignore  or 
to  expurgate  all  passion,  that  which  God  hath 
joined  together,  passion  and  affection,  he  would 
put  asunder  in  beggarly  divorcement.  View- 
ing life  like  Wordsworth  from  his  secluded 
retreat  in  the  lake  country,  he  may  lack  sym- 
pathy with  its  foibles  and  temptations ;  for, 
as  Mr.  Arnold  has  written,  without  in  anyway 
contradicting  his  previous  statement: 

"Wordsworth  averts  his  ken 
From  half  of  human  fate." 

That  which  Byron  and  Shelley  unduly 
exaggerate,  he    as    unduly   belittles,  showing 


63 

that  on  the  lenijth  of  the  spoon  which  they 
have  reflected  from  its  width  ;  or  though  he 
offend  no  law  of  the  decalogue,  yet,  like  them, 
he  represents  partial  or  distorted  vicn'S  of  life. 
Here,  then,  we  have  the  basis  of  a  criterion 
of  healthfulness,  which,  though  not  startling 
in  its  novelty,  has  yet  some  present  interest 
for  us,  since  it  is  of  such  generality  as  to  in- 
clude all  of  the  above  specific  charges.  Nor 
does  its  value  depend  upon  the  sustaining  of 
these  charges  against  the  above-mentioned 
Poets  ;  for,  in  any  event,  this  remains  true,  that 
any  Poetry  that  does  distort  life  is  unhealthful. 

'Tis  true,  an  exaggeration  of  a  particular 
phase  of  life  seems  sometimes  necessary  to 
the  well-being  of  the  mind  diseased,  much  as 
poisons  do  medicine  the  body ;  yet  would  we 
not  speak  of  one  or  the  other  as  being  in  any 
ordinary  sense  of  the  term  healthful. 

But  let  us  now  bring  the  above  to  the  test  of 
that  substantial  agreement,  which  we  found  to 
exist,  namely :  That  Shakespeare  is  more  health- 
ful than  cither  of  the  above  Poets.  If  in  the  above 
we  have  the  true  basis  for  our  definition,  then 
must  it  follow,  that  in  his  Poetry  we  shall  find 


64 

less  belittling  of  one  interest  and  exaggeration 
of  another,  less  distortion,  than  in  theirs. 

Remembering,  as  Wordsworth  has  said, 
that  the  sonnet  is  the  key  with  which  Shake- 
speare unlocked  his  heart,  let  us  turn  to  these, 
and  we  shall  find  that  though,  like  Byron,  a 
sometime  companion  of  harlots,  yet  does  he 
never  attempt  to  o'er-green  vice  with  the  forms 
and  shows  of  virtue.  Tempted  in  all  points  like 
as  we  are,  yet  does  he  never  part  the  cable  of 
his  virtuous  instincts. 

"  Alas  !  'tis  true,  I  have  gone  here  and  there, 
And  made  myself  a  motley  to  the  view, 
Gored  mine  own  thoughts,  sold  cheap  what  is  most 

dear, 
Made  old  offences  of  affections  new  ! 
Most  true  it  is,  that  I  have  looked  on  Truth 
Askance  and  strangely ;  but,  by  all  above, 
These  blenches  gave  my  heart  another  youth. 
And  worse  essays  proved  thee  my  best  of  love. 
Now  all  is  done  save  what  shall  have  no  end. 
Mine  appetite,  I  never  more  will  grind 
On  newer  proof,  to  try  an  older  friend, 
O  God  in  love,  to  whom  I  am  confined ! 
Then  give  me  welcome,  next  my  heaven  the  best, 
Even  to  thy  pure  and  most,  most  loving  breast." 

Sonnet  Jio. 


65 

Even  in  the  hour  of  sensual  gratification, 
the  tinsel  of  vice  is  to  him  tinsel  still. 

"  When  my  love  swears  she's  made  of  truth, 
I  do  beHcve  her,  though  I  know  she  hes," 

Familiar  with  the  brave  and  courtly,  he 
neither  belittles  them  nor  shows  them  in  such 
high  and  sensational  light  as  to  blind  you 
to  the  excellence  of  the  humbler  parts  of  the 
picture.  Again,  though  taking  cognizance  of 
things  more  questionable  than  those  with 
which  Byron  has  offended,  yet  is  he  seldom 
unhealthful  in  this  regard  ;  for  such  things  are 
rarely  forced  into  violent  juxtaposition  with 
the  most  delicate  flavors  of  life,  but  are  shown 
in  their  true  relation  to  all  else.  It  is  Stephano 
and  Trunculo  that  are  betrayed  into  the  mishap 
of  the  pool,  not  Ferdinand  and  ]\Iiranda.  Sel- 
dom moralizing,  he  yet  finds  a  soul  of  truth  in 
the  most  absurd  superstitions. 

Mar ce litis  : 

"  It  faded  on  the  crowing  of  the  cock. 
Some  say  that  ever  'gainst  that  season  comes 
Wherein  our  Saviour's  birth  is  celebrated. 
The  bird  of  dawning  singeth  all  night  long; 


66 


And  then,  they  say,  no  spirit  can  walk  abroad. 
The  nights  are  wholesome,  then  no  planets  strike. 
No  fairy  takes,  nor  witch  has  power  to  charm, 
So  hallowed  and  so  gracious  is  the  time. 

Horalio  : 

So  have  I  heard,  and  do  in  part  believe  it. 

Hani/et,  Act  I.,  Scene  i. 

Protestant  or  Catholic,  who  shall  say  ? 
for  Puritan  and  priest  are  painted  with  like 
impartial  hand.  Pessimistic?  We  trow  not. 
Nay,  rather  is  it  in  this  that  his  healthfulness 
is  most  marked. 

Mr.  Ruskin,  I  think  it  is,  enters  complaint 
that  Shakespeare  never  had  any  great  object 
in  life ;  doubtless  meaning  some  such  Utopian 
scheme  as  that  upon  which  he  himself  has  so 
generously  expended  his  inheritance.  Now, 
while  this  may  be  true  as  to  the  fact,  yet  is  the 
implied  exception,  that  therein  Shakespeare 
lacks  somewhat  of  perfect  healthfulness,  not 
well  taken. 

For,  though  differing  most  widely,  yet 
have  Byron's  scheme  of  Greek  independence 
and  Ruskin's  ideal  community  this  in  common  : 


6; 

both  exaggerate  the  faihires  of  estabHshed 
institutions,  and  belittle  their  good ;  both 
fall  short  of  that  healthful  philosophy  of  life 
which  realizes  that  all  things  work  together 
for  good;  that  the  social  institutions  of  any 
time  are,  on  the  whole,  the  best  for  the  needs 
of  the  time.  Exaggerating  our  own  impor- 
tance in  the  eternal  economy,  we  fancy  that 
with  imperfect  men  we  can  construct  an  ideal 
or  perfect  social  structure,  and  so  engage  in 
schemes  which,  like  those  of  Mr.  Ruskin, 
though  laudable  in  their  promptings,  are  yet 
the  outcome  of  a  limited  knowledge  of  life.  In 
the  provincialism  of  our  wealth  or  culture,  we 
overestimate  the  value  of  these  as  factors  in  the 
problem  of  life's  happiness.  Forgetting  that 
the  best  things  in  life — virtue,  content,  etc. — 
are  possible  to  the  least  of  fortune's  favorites, 
we  cry  out,  "  Is  not  culture  more  than  virtue, 
and  wealth  more  than  content?"  But  mark 
the  difference : 

"  Sir,  I  am  a  true  laborer.  I  earn  that  I 
eat,  get  that  I  wear ;  owe  no  man  hate,  envy 
no  man's  happiness  ;  glad  of  other  men's  good, 
content  with  my  harm  ;  and  the  greatest  of  my 


68 


pride  is  to  see  my  ewes  graze  and  my  lambs 
suck."    So  saith  Corin  in  "As  You  Like  It." 

Again,  he  who  was  famihar  with  court  and 
courtesans,  the  most  wise  fool,  Touchstone, 
saith  of  his  Audrey:  "A  poor  humor  of  mine, 
sir,  to  take  that  that  no  man  will."  Not  that 
he  blinds  himself  to  the  value  of  culture ;  for, 
"Truly  I  would  the  gods  had  made  thee 
poetic."  Still,  "A  poor  humor  of  mine,  sir; 
an  ill-favored  thing,  but  mine  own."  Is  not 
the  healthfulness  of  this  in  keeping  with  the 
fact  that  Shakespeare,  having  gained  a  com- 
petence, and  returning  to  his  native  town, 
indulges  in  no  Utopian  scheme  for  the  benefit 
of  its  poor,  gives  rise  to  no  excrescence  upon 
the  body  politic,  but,  instead,  he  appears  on 
record  as  member  of  a  committee  to  secure 
from  Parliament  a  subsidy  for  the  town  of 
Stratford,  then  fallen  in  decay  ? 

Again  :  he  who  had  written  in  the  assur- 
ance of  his  genius, — 

"  So  long  as  men  can  breathe,  or  eyes  can  see, 
So  long  lives  this,  and  this  gives  life  to  thee  ;  "• 

he  who  had  been  flattered  by,  and  had  charmed, 


69 

a  circle  in  which  the  genius  of  a  Jonson  stood 
not  alone,  returns  to  his  nati\-e  town,  and  takes 
upon  himself  the  least  regarded  public  duties 
as  road  ov^crseer.  Aye,  he  who  had  been  one 
with  the  simple  folk  of  this  world  in  their 
struggle  for  existence,  knew  too  well  their 
needs  and  possibilities  to  indulge  in  any  maud- 
lin sentiment  in  their  behalf,  offering  them 
instead  a  profound  respect. 

On  the  other  hand,  Byron  and  Shelley, 
and  to  a  less  degree  Ruskin,  all  born  to  an 
inheritance,  all  bemoan  the  ills  of  this  work- 
a-day  world  or  all  lack  somewhat  of  perfect 
healthfulness.  Truly  has  it  been  written  how 
hardly  shall  a  rich  man  enter  into  that  king- 
dom in  which  the  unregarded  of  this  world 
are  looked  upon,  not  as  objects  of  pity,  but  of 
respect.  For  this  thing  cometh  not  but  by 
the  fasting  and  prayer  of  the  struggle  for  exis- 
tence. 

Marvelous  as  was  Shakespeare's  insight 
into  the  motives  of  action,  wondrous  as  was  his 
poetic  genius,  yet  was  he  greater  tlian  all  these 
in  this  universality  of  his  sympathy.  Having 
proved  all  things,  he  had  regard  to  all  things, 


70 

and  would  neither  add  to  nor  subtract  one  jot 
or  tittle  from  the  greatest  or  least  respected 
things  of  life. 

But  to  bring  this  to  a  conclusion,  while 
the  Poet  may  avail  himself  of  this  healthful- 
ness,  as  he  does  of  the  beauty,  pathos,  sub- 
limity, etc.,  of  the  scene  or  conception  repre- 
sented, or  as  an  additional  source  of  pleasure, 
still  may  his  lines  be  never  so  unhealthy  and 
yet  evidence  great  poetic  genius. 

Holding  this  in  regard  may  we  not  write: 
Healthfiilness  in  Poetry,  as  in  all  literature 
and  all  art,  is  the  represetiting  of  life  without 
distortion. 


Humor. 

THAT  Poetry  and  Humor  have  much  in 
common,  may  not  at  first  sight  appear, 
so  different  are  they  in  their  effect 
upon  us.  And  yet  when  we  find  critics  of 
undoubted  ability  declaring  of  the  same  lines  : 
one,  that  they  arc  poetic ;  and  the  other,  that 
they  are  humorous,  we  begin  to  doubt  whether 
the  difference  is  as  clearly  marked  as  we  had 
fancied.  And  yet  that  there  is  an  essential 
and  abiding  difference,  and  hence,  that  any 
definition  either  of  Poetry  or  of  Humor,  to 
be  complete  must  take  cognizance  of  this  dif- 
ference, cannot  be  gainsaid,  while  the  question, 
Does  the  definition  of  Poetry  developed  in  a 
previous  article  satisfy  this  conditii  >n  ?  becomes 
a  most  pertinent  one. 


72 

We  can  best  answer  this  question  by  first 
determining  the  ultimate  and  essential  con- 
ditions of  Humor,  and  in  so  doing  will,  as 
heretofore,  avail  ourselves  of  all  previous 
efforts  in  this  direction.  We  saw  that  all 
attempts  to  define  Poetry  could  for  practi- 
cal purposes,  be  included  under  one  or  the 
other  of  two  definitions.  So  too  we  find  that 
many  and  various  as  have  been  the  attempts  to 
determine  the  cause  of  humorous  amusement, 
they  all  array  themselves  under  one  or  the 
other  of  the  following  : 

Mr.  Bain  writes:  "The  occasion  of  the  lu- 
dicrous is  the  degradation  of  some  person  or 
interest  possessing  dignity  in  circumstances 
that  excite  no  other  strong  emotion." 

On  the  other  hand  Dr.  Johnson  says : 

"  Wit  is  a  '  discordia  concors,'  a  combina- 
tion of  dissimilar  images," 

Though  different  terms  are  here  employed, 
— wit  and  the  ludicrous, — yet  may  these  defi- 
nitions be  accepted  as  typical  of  all  attempts  to 
define  that  generic  Humor  which  includes  any 
and  all  sources  of  humorous  amusement.  Not 
only  so,  but  as  in  Poetry,  so  here,  we  hope  to 


73 

show,  that,  despite  their  seeming  contradiction, 
these  are  but  the  complements  of  each  other, 
so  that  any  satisfactory  definition  must  take 
note  of  the  truth  contained  in  each  of  them. 

That  degradation  is  present  in  many 
phases  of  generic  Humor  ma)'  not  be  denied, 
and  yet  it  might  be  urged  against  the  first  of  the 
above  definitions,  that  degradation  may,  and  oft- 
times  does,  give  rise  to  pity  or  other  strong 
emotions.  To  meet  this  objection,  Mr.  Bain 
adds  the  quahfying  clause  that  the  degradation 
shall  be  "  in  circumstances  that  excite  no  other 
strong  emotion  ;  "  yet  is  this  far  from  satisfac- 
tory, for  since  the  amusement  and  the  other 
strong  emotion  are  both  due  to  degradation, 
there  must  needs  be  some  difference  in  the 
character  of  the  degradation,  corresponding  to 
this  difference  in  effect,  or  it  is  in  some  pecu- 
liar phase  of  degradation  that  we  must  look 
for  the  basis  of  a  definition  of  generic  Humor. 

When  a  dignified  divine  follows,  in  fruit- 
less chase,  his  erring  hat,  which,  in  gamesome 
mood,  seems  to  await  his  near  approach,  only 
to  be  again  caught  up  on  the  wings  of  frolic, 
we  are  amused,  and  as  certainly  have  a  person 


74 

in  some  sense  degraded.  But  notice  this,  that 
while  in  his  pursuit  of  not  very  noble  game, 
the  divine  is  like  a  boy  at  an  age  when  he  is 
the  contradiction  of  all  dignity ;  yet  the  divine 
does  not  forfeit  our  respect,  or  it  is  not  an 
absolute  degradation. 

Cervantes  represents  his  redoubtable 
knight  as  awaiting  the  approach  of  the  mer- 
chants of  Toledo: — 

"  When  they  were  come  so  near  as  to  be 
seen  and  heard,  Don  Quixote  raised  his  voice 
and  with  an  arrogant  air  cried  out :  '  Let  the 
wliole  world  stand,  if  the  whole  world  does  not 
confess  that  there  is  not  in  the  whole  world  a 
damsel  more  beautiful,  etc.,  etc'  "  So  imbued 
is  his  mind  with  this  knight  errantry  that  his 
faith  in  it  naught  can  shake.  She  whom  he 
has  elevated  to  the  sublime  place  in  his  mind, 
of  Dulcinea  del  Toboso,  was  in  reality  an 
unseemly,  ignorant,  country  wench,  with 
naught  of  the  ideal  about  her,  save  an  almost 
forgotten  affair  between  them  ;  and  yet  out  of 
this  slight  element  of  actuality  all  her  ideal 
charms  are  created,  holding  existence  in  his 
mind  beyond  a  peradventure,     "  And  it's  no 


75 

great  matter  if  it  is  another  hand,  for  by  what 
I  can  remember  Dulcinea  can  neither  write 
nor  read."  And  yet  is  it  not  true  that,  despite 
his  high-gravel  bhndness  in  this  regard,  we 
continue  to  think  of  the  Don  as  sensible  upon 
other  subjects. 

Even  Sir  Andrew  Aguecheck,  whom,  at 
best,  we  do  not  regard  as  over-wise,  becomes 
most  amusing  when  he  appears  as  more  of  a 
fool  than  he  is  in  reality.  When  Maria  invites 
Sir  Toby  and  him  to  witness  the  success  of 
her  trick  upon  the  high  and  lofty  Malvolio, 
the  former  indicates  his  willingness  to  accom- 
pany her  and  his  appreciation  of  the  trick  by 
saying  :  "  To  the  gates  of  Tartar,  thou  most 
excellent  devil  of  wit!  "  At  this  Sir  Andrew, 
who,  mind  you,  is  utterly  incapable  of  even  the 
semblance  of  a  joke,  says  :  "  I'll  make  one 
too."     What  excellent  foolery  ! 

He  himself  well  knows  the  impossibility 
of  this,  and  yet,  through  his  desire  to  have  or 
retain  Sir  Toby's  favor,  which  Maria  had 
recently  monopolized,  he  is  betrayed  into  this 
foolishness,  thus  seeming  more  of  a  fool 
than  he  is  in  reality.      In  neither  of  these  in- 


76 

stances  is  the  degradation  absolute.  Assume, 
for  the  sake  of  argument,  that  the  divine,  Don 
Quixote  and  Sir  Andrew  are  without  "  miti- 
gation or  remorse"  the  fools  they  seem,  and 
what  results?  Can  you  laugh  at  an.  idiot? 
instead,  are  you  not  compelled  to  pity  him  ? 
Or,  if  the  degradation  becomes  absolute,  the 
amusement  ceases,  "  giving  place  to  other 
strong  emotions." 

But  why,  or  how,  does  this  change  in  the 
character  of  the  degradation  result  in  such 
change  in  its  effect  upon  us  ?  For  an  answer 
to  this  turn  to  the  divine,  and  is  it  not  mani- 
fest, that  in  his  incomplete  degradation  he 
makes  present  to  the  mind,  at  one  and  the 
same  tim.e,  two  pictures  or  conceptions  of 
himself,  one  as  dignified  and  the  other  as  de- 
graded, or  that  this  incompleteness  of  his  degra- 
dation results  in  what  Johnson  has  called  a 
combination  of  dissimilar  images.  Make  the 
degradation  absolute,  and  you  destroy  one  of 
these  images,  that  of  the  divine  as  dignified, 
and  a  "  combination,"  a  "  discordia  concors," 
is  rendered  impossible,  since  there  is  now  but 
one  image  or  conception  present  in  the  mind. 


The  amusement  ceasing  not  as  Mr.  Bain  would 
have  us  infer,  because  there  is  present  in  the 
mind  the  conditions  both  of  amusement  and  of 
other  strong  emotions,  only  the  latter  is  the 
more  powerful  of  the  two,  but  because  the 
conditions  of  amusement  have  disappeared, 
giving  place  to  conditions  of  other  strong 
emotions,  as  pity,  or  the  degradation  is  now 
such  as  cannot  give  rise  to  a  discordia 
concors,  but  must  awaken  other  strong  emo- 
tions. 

Turning  to  Puns,  Parodies  and  Witticisms 
in  general,  little  difficulty  is  experienced  in 
recognizing  in  them  the  presence  of"  discordia 
concors,"  while,  on  the  other  hand,  the  degra- 
dation is  not  always  so  obvious  as  in  the  pre- 
vious examples,  Mr,  Herbert  Spencer  going 
so  far  as  to  say  that  Puns  might  be  produced 
in  which  no  degradation  can  be  found.  For 
the  present,  however,  let  us  note  that  between 
Don  Quixote's  challenge  and  a  Pun  there  is  a 
difference,  which  men  have  sought  to  indicate 
by  calling  one  Humor  (specific),  and  the  other 
Wit.  And  while  the  attempts  to  define  these 
terms  have   not  met  with  any  signal  success, 


78 

yet  is  the  difference,  though  somewhat  vaguely 
recognized,  a  real  and  substantial  one. 

If,  as  Coleridge  has  suggested,  there  is  in 
some  way  the  same  relation  between  these  as 
between  Imaginative  and  Fanciful  Poetry,  we 
may  obtain  some  help  in  our  present  inquiry, 
from  a  previous  article.  For  while  in  all 
Poetry,  we  have  both  the  thought  and  the  fig- 
ure, in  which  the  thought  finds  utterance,  yet 
in  Imaginative  Poetry  the  thought,  the  utility, 
and  in  Fanciful  Poetry  the  figure  or  combina- 
tion, is  the  more  important  factor ;  or,  here  as 
elsewhere,  "what  nature  creates  for  use,  she 
afterward  turns  to  beauty." 

So  too,  it  seems  probable,  that  in  all 
Humor  (generic)  we  have  both  the  degrada- 
tion or  utility,  and  the  combination  by  which 
this  is  effected,  yet  in  Humor  (specific)  as  in 
Imaginative  Poetry,  the  degradation  or  utility 
is  of  greater  moment  than  in  Wit ;  while 
in  the  latter,  as  in  Fanciful  Poetry,  the  com- 
bination has  existence  more  because  of  its  own 
delightfulness,  than  because  it  subserves  the 
purpose  of  any  degradation. 

This,  too,  is  coherent  with  the  claim,  that 


79 

the  earliest  manifestations  of  Humor  (generic") 
are  in  the  form  of  practical  jokes,  Samson 
loosing  the  foxes  in  the  standing  corn  of  the 
Philistines,  or  slaying  their  thousands  with 
the  jaw-bone  of  an  ass,  displaying  a  grim 
sort  of  Humor  in  the  insignificance  of  the 
weapons  employed.  Or,  in  this  actual  in- 
jur)' of  enemies,  in  such  a  manner  as  made 
them  appear  less  than  they  were  in  reality,  we 
have  it  may  be,  the  utility  from  which  has 
been  evolved  all  forms  of  generic  Humor.  And 
as  in  all  Poetry,  even  the  most  Fanciful,  there 
is  still  some  warp  of  thought;  so  it  seems 
probable,  that  in  all  Humor  (generic),  in  the 
quickest  and  most  brilliant  witticism,  there  is 
still  some  flavor  of  degradation. 

But  while  it  has  appeared  in  what  Poetry 
and  Humor  (generic)  are  alike,  the  combining 
or  bringing  together  of  conceptions  at  remove, 
etc.,  it  has  not  as  yet  been  shown  in  what  they 
differ. 

Notice,  then,  that  examples  may  be  pro- 
duced, one  poetic  and  the  other  humorous,  in 
which  the  conceptions  brought  together  are 
practically  the  same.     P^or  instance,  we  may 


8o 

personify  a  bell,  and  speak  of  it  as  telling  the 
sad  news,  while  Hood  writes: 

"  The  parson  told  the  sexton, 
And  the  sexton  tolled  the  bell." 

That  in  both  of  these  the  conceptions 
brought  together  are  a  bell  tolling  and  a  per- 
son telling  something  is  manifest;  hence  the 
difference  cannot  be  in  the  character  of  the 
conceptions  brought  together,  nor  yet  in  the 
remove  between  them. 

In  our  extremity  we  turn  to  the  bond 
between  these  conceptions,  to  inquire  if  there 
be  not  some  difference  there.  With  what 
result  ?  This,  that  while  in  the  first  example 
the  conceptions  are  merely  similar  in  one  or 
more  elements,  in  the  second  they  are  brought 
together  because  the  words  told  and  tolled 
are  in  sound  the  same. 

So  in  Witticisms  in  general,  as  when 
Porson,  hearing  some  one  remark,  of  certain 
modern  poets,  that  they  would  be  remembered 
long  after  Homer  and  Virgil  were  forgotten, 
replied,  "And  not  till  then." 

The    point   of  this    manifestly    depends 


8i 


Upon  the  factthat  he  adopts  entire  the  language 
of  the  first  speaker,  and  so  seeming  at  first  to 
convey  the  same  idea,  he  yet  by  a  shght  addi- 
tion conveys  the  directly  opposite  idea.  Or, 
conceptions  at  remov'c  are  brought  together, 
because  the  language  employed,  is  in  a  large 
measure  the  same. 

In  Parodies  it  is  the  same  metrical  struc- 
ture, while  in  the  divine's  unseemly  caper, 
Don  Quixote's  challenge,  or  Sir  Andrew's 
aside,  the  sajiie  person  is  conceived  as  more  or 
less  wise  and  as  foolish  ;  or,  if  a  like  relation 
existed  between  all  the  elements  of  the  con- 
ceptions brought  together,  we  might  say  of 
them,  not  merely  as  in  Poetry,  that  they  are 
similar,  but  that  they  are  identical  or  coincide 
throughout.  Hence  the  definition — /;/  Humor 
[generic)  we  have  that  degradation  which  re- 
sults in  a  "  discordia  concors,"  in  a  combining 
or  bringing  together  conceptions  at  remove  by 
jneans  of  coincidence,  thus  creating  a  nezv  con- 
ception, which,  as  we  shall  see  hereafter,  is  of  tw 
long  continuance. 

Turning  again  to  the  divine's  pursuit  of 
not  very  noble  game,  we  see  that  the  more 


82 


dignified  he  is  in  general,  and  the  more  he  is 
like  a  boy,  in  this  one  instance  of  the  lapse 
of  his  dignity,  the  more  we  are  amused;  or,  as 
the  greatest  Poetry  is  the  result  of  maximum 
remove  with  the  maximum  similarity,  so  the 
greatest  Humor  {generic)  is  the  result  of  maxi- 
mum remove  and  maximinn  coincidence. 

Again,  in  applying  this,  we  find,  that  just 
as  the  greatest  Poetry  is  in  general  Imagina- 
tive, as  distinguished  from  the  F'anciful,  so  the 
greatest  Humor  (generic)  is  in  general  to  be 
found  in  specific  Humor,  as  distinguished  from 
Wit,  in  a  Don  Quixote,  or  a  "Twelfth  Night," 
and  not  in  the  reply  of  a  Porson,  or  the  couplet 
of  Hood. 

It  has  not  yet  appeared,  however,  that  the 
above  distinction  between  similarity  and  coin- 
cidence will  account  for  the  well-known  differ- 
ence between  Poetry  and  Humor  (generic)  in 
their  effect  upon  us. 

P'or  a  better  understanding  of  this,  let  us 
turn  to  an  article  of  Mr.  Spencer's,  on  "  The 
Physiology  of  Laughter."  Ignoring  some  of 
the  more  refined  distinctions,  one  can  quote 
him   in  a  general  way,  as   saying:    That    any 


disturbance  of  the  nervous  system,  or  forcd 
set  in  motion,  must  expend  itself  either  in 
mental  or  muscular  activities,  or  in  both  of  these. 
If,  from  any  cause,  the  discharge  through  one 
of  these  channels  as  mental  activities  is  inter- 
rupted, this  force  must  find  \cnt  in  some  way, 
and,  hence,  more  must  be  taken  up  in  muscu- 
lar action  ;  and  if  the  force  is  without  special 
direction,  it  will  naturally  set  in  motion  those 
muscles  most  readily  moved,  those  most  fre- 
quently in  use,  or  the  muscles  of  the  throat 
and  chest,  used  in  talking,  respiration,  and 
likewise  in  laughter.  When  the  acrobat  has 
made  an  astonishing  leap  over  a  number  of 
horses,  and  the  clown  comes  running  after  with 
great  energy,  as  though  he  would  far  surpass 
the  acrobat,  and  then  stops  suddenly  at  the 
first  horse,  and  pretends  to  brush  off  a  fly,  the 
audience  screams.  By  the  energy  of  his  pre- 
liminary run,  he  has  led  them  to  expect  a 
wonderful  jump;  a  large  amount  of  nervous 
force  was  set  in  motion,  but  his  "  most  lame 
and  impotent  conclusion"  interrupts  the  dis- 
charge of  this  force  through  mental  channels, 
so    compelling    it  to    find    vent    in    muscular 


activities,  and  the  half-convulsive  action  we 
call  laughter  ensues. 

That  this  is  big  with  truth  we  must  per- 
force grant ;  yet  is  the  statement  made  farther 
on,  that  "laughter  naturally  results  only  when 
consciousness  is  unawares  transferred  from 
great  things  to  small,  misleading  in  the  ex- 
treme, for  examples  may  be  produced,  as  in- 
stance Porson's  reply,  in  which  there  is  no  dif- 
ference in  greatness  between  the  conceptions 
with  which  the  mind  is  employed. 

We  have  seen,  however,  that,  in  Humor 
(generic),  the  combination  is  due  to  coinci- 
dence ;  and  so  the  mind  recognizing  that  the 
conceptions  coincide  in  one  or  more  elements, 
is  prone  to  assume  that  the  same  relation  exists 
between  all  their  elements,  or  that  they  coincide 
throughout ;  but  since  the  conceptions  are  in 
reality  at  great  remove,  or  in  their  more  impor- 
tant elements  essentially  different,  we  no  sooner 
impose  one  upon  the  other  than  their  non-co- 
incidence in  these  elements  is  revealed ;  the  new 
conception  resulting  from  the  attempted  combi- 
nation is  hardly  created,  before  its  impossibility 
is  flashed  upon  the  mind,  or  its  birth  is  its  death. 


85 

Here,  by  the  by,  is  Whately's  fallacy ; 
Shoepenhauer's  triumph  of  intuition  over 
reflection  ;  or  Dumont's  "  that  of  which  the 
mind  is  forced  to  affirm  and  deny  the  same 
thing  at  the  same  time."  But  what  must  be 
the  result  of  this  self-destructive  character  of 
the  new  conception  ? 

Manifestly  this,  that  the  mind  is  left  with- 
out anything  with  which  to  occup)'  itself,  not 
because  the  mind  is  "  unawares  transferred 
from  great  things  to  small,"  in  any  ordinary 
sense  in  which  we  employ  the  terms,  but 
because  the  conception  resulting  from  the 
combination,  though  extremely  novel,  and  so 
setting  in  motion  a  large  body  of  nervous  force, 
is  yet  self-destructive,  and  hence  the  force  set 
in  motion  must  find  vent  in  muscular  action, 
and  laughter  results. 

In  Poetry,  on  the  other  hand,  in  which 
the  combination  is  due  to  similarity,  you  are 
never,  even  for  a  moment,  betrayed  into  the 
notion,  that  the  conceptions  coincide  through- 
out or  are  identical,  but  instead,  you  are  at  all 
times  conscious  that  they  are  but  similar. 

The  new  conception,  therefore,  is  not  self- 


86 


destructive,  but  remains  for  the  mind  to  brood 
over,  or  the  force  set  in  motion,  finding  vent 
in  mental  channels,  laughter  does  not  ensue. 
This  suggests  a  solution  for  a  problem  that 
has  troubled  all  attempts  to  analyze  Humor, 
namely:  In  what  does  the  Humor  which 
gives  rise  to  a  laugh  differ  from  that  which 
only  provokes  a  smile  ? 

We  have  already  seen  that  Wit  differs 
from  specific  Humor,  in  the  greater  domi- 
nance of  the  combination  ;  but  not  contented 
with  this,  we  ofttimes  impose  upon  it  the  fur- 
ther limitation,  that  it  shall  be  quick,  apropos, 
and  so  are  apt  to  call  witty  all  quick,  apropos 
combinations,  whether  they  are  in  method, 
humorous  or  poetic.  If  the  former,  then,  as 
we  have  seen,  it  will  give  rise  to  a  laugh  ;  but 
if  the  latter,  it  can,  at  the  most,  but  provoke  a 
smile ;  or  as  the  combination  passes  from  the 
humorous  to  the  poetic,  coincidence  giving 
place  to  similarity,  the  laugh  gives  place  to 
the  smile,  and  this  to  what  a  German  called 
"a  smile  in  the  depths  of  his  consciousness." 


Resume. 

^pil ROUGH  all  the  wanderings  of  our 
J[_  argument  thus  far,  we  have  striv^en  to 
keep  before  the  minds  of  our  readers 
as  the  fundamental  proposition,  that : — Poetry 
is  the  expressing  of  thought  by  means  of  Jigure; 
by  the  substitution  of  the  concrete  for  the  ab- 
stract;  or  by  the  bringing  t:'gether  or  com- 
bining of  conceptions  at  rcniove,  because  of  a 
similarity  betii'een  them,  thus  creating  a  nezv 
conception. 

Let  us  now  pass  in  brief  review  the 
arguments  that  led  to  this  conclusion.  In 
the  first  place,  we  found  a  substantial  agree- 
ment among  men  to  the  effect  that  the 
measure  of  poetic  merit  must  be  found  either 
in  the  character  of  the  thought  expressed,  or 


in  the  character  of  the  figures  employed.  In 
deciding  between  these,  we  saw  that  while 
thought  is  in  some  sense  essential,  figure 
being  impossible,  save  as  it  expresses  some 
thought,  yet  it  is  not  peculiar  to  Poetry. 

Again,  while  the  beauty,  pathos,  sub- 
limity, healthfulness,  etc.,  of  the  scene,  con- 
ception or  thought  represented  is  important  as 
an  additional  source  of  pleasure ;  nay,  more, 
while  the  character  of  the  thought  may  some- 
times be  a  fair  measure  of  poetic  excellence, 
the  greatness  of  the  thought  reacting  upon  the 
mind  of  the  poet,  stimulating  it  to  the  creation 
of  figures  otherwise  impossible,  etc.,  yet  did  we 
find  that  the  character  of  the  thought  could 
not  be  relied  upon  as  a  measure  of  poetic 
values,  since  examples  may  be  produced  differ- 
ing most  widely  in  poetic  merit,  in  which, 
nevertheless,  the  scene,  conception  or  thought 
is  the  same  in  both,  and  hence  we  concluded 
that  Poetry  is  the  expressing  of  thought  by 
means  of  figure.  But  a  definition,  to  be  satis- 
factory, must  be  exclusive  as  well  as  inclusive  ; 
and  bringing  the  above  to  this  test,  we  found 
that  it  served  to  distinguish  Poetry  from  Prose, 


or  the  scientific  mode  of  expressing  thought, 
in  this  that  while  the  latter  tends  to  substitute 
the  abstract  for  the  concrete,  the  former  sub- 
stitutes the  concrete  for  the  abstract. 

So,  too,  while  we  found  tlie  genius  of 
Poet  and  Philosopher  are  e\-idenced  in  opera- 
tions that  are  identical — the  bringing  together 
of  conceptions  at  remov^e  by  means  of  similarity 
— yet  do  they  differ  in  the  purpose  for  which 
this  combination  is  effected,  and  in  the  general 
nervous  condition  under  which  their  intellect 
operates;  one  seeking  to  express  a  truth,  and 
the  other  to  develop  a  further  truth. 

From  painting,  sculpture,  etc..  Poetry  is, 
of  course,  distinguished  by  the  material  in 
which  it  works, — language;  while  from  Hu- 
mor (generic),  in  which  we  have  a  like  bringing 
together  of  conceptions  at  remove,  it  differs  in 
the  character  of  the  bond  by  which  these 
conceptions  are  combined, — similarity  in  one, 
coincidence  in  the  other,  etc.  In  thus  showing 
that  our  definition  was  sufficiently  exclusive, 
we  have  been  led  to  define,  with  more  or  less 
precision,  those  things  in  regard  to  which  con- 
fusion might  arise.     The  definition  of  Humor 


90 

(generic)  we  were  at  some  pains  to  formulate, 
and  found  that  it  not  only  reconciled  differ- 
ences, but  was,  also,  in  keeping  with  the 
theory  of  Laughter  developed  by  Mr.  Herbert 
Spencer. 

Then,  again,  as  a  definition  of  Poetry  must 
needs  lack  completeness  if  it  fails  to  contain  a 
possible  explanation  of  the  difference  between 
Imaginative  and  Fanciful  Poetry,  so  a  defini- 
tion of  Humor  (generic)  should  contain  a 
possible  explanation  of  the  difference  between 
Humor  (specific)  and  Wit.  In  accordance 
with  this,  we  saw  that  while  in  all  Poetry  we 
have  both  the  thought  and  the  combination 
by  which  it  is  expressed,  yet  in  Imaginative 
the  thought,  and  in  Fanciful  the  combination, 
is  the  more  dominant  factor.  So,  too,  while 
in  all  Humor  (generic)  you  have  both  the 
degradation  and  the  combination,  yet  in 
Humor  (specific)  the  degradation,  and  in  Wit 
the  combination,  is  the  more  conspicuous 
figure.  Thereby  justifying  the  surmise  of 
Coleridge,  that  in  some  way  the  same  relation 
exists  between  Humor  (specific)  and  Wit  as 
between  Imaginative  and  Fanciful  Poetry. 


9> 

This  sugt^ested  a  solution  for  the  problem 
that  has  troubled  all  attempts  to  define  Humor 
(generic),  namely:  In  what  does  the  Humor 
which  gives  rise  to  a  laugh  differ  from  that 
which  only  provokes  a  smile  ?  To  this,  an- 
swer was  made :  As  coincidence  is  changed 
to  similarity,  the  laugh  must  needs  give  place 
to  a  smile,  etc. 

Among  the  few  formulated  beliefs,  about 
which  there  is  a  substantial  agreemer.t  among 
critics  is  this  : — That  there  is  in  the  highest 
Poetry,  a  certain  characteristic  simplicity  or 
repose.  This,  we  found,  was  in  entire  keeping 
with  our  definition  of  Poetry,  and  so  were 
led  to  define  this  repose.  We  saw,  also,  that 
under  the  impulse  of  any  deep  feeling  or  pas- 
sion, the  mind  found  the  Scientific  or  Prose 
mode  of  expressing  thought  all  too  slow  for 
the  press  of  jostling  thoughts,  and  so  was  com- 
pelled to  find  vent  for  these  in  figure,  or  as  is 
frequently  said,  Poetry  is  the  natural  language 
of  passion.  Even  the  essentially  absurd  notion 
that  all  we  have  to  do,  to  write  great  Poetry, 
is  to  feel  deeply,  found,  in  the  above  truth,  some 
justification.    So,  tO(j,  the  somewhat  incoherent 


92 

cry  that  American  Poetry  should  be  American, 
was  found  to  be  big  with  truth  ;  while  in  the 
progress  of  science,  we  found  not  a  foreboding, 
but  a  promise,  of  the  future  possibilities  of 
Poetry;  or,  our  definition  conforms  itself  to  this 
great  test  of  truth — that  it  lives  not  unto  itself 
alone,  but  that  with  it  must  stand  or  fall  a  large 
body  of  collateral  truth. 

Some  one  has  said  we  should  -doubt  our 
conclusions  about  Poetry  when  they  differ 
from  the  Poets;  let  us  bring  our  definition  to 
this  further  test,  confident  that  it  will  not  fail 
us  here. 

We  have  already  seen,  as  Sir  Philip  Sidney 
has  written,  that :  "  It  is  not  rhyming  or 
versing  that  maketh  a  poet,  but  it  is  the  feign- 
ing of  notable  images,  of  virtues,  vices,  or 
what  else,  with  that  delightful  teaching  which 
must  be  the  right  describing  note  to  know  a 

poet  by he  coupleth  the  general 

notion  with  the  particular  example." 

To  this  Shakespeare  has  given  more 
poetic  expression  in  his  "  Midsummer  Night's 
Dream." 


93 

"The  poet's  eye,  in  a  fine  frenzy  rolling, 
Doth  glance  from  heaven  to  earth,  from  earth  to 

heaven. 
And  as  imagination  bodies  forth 
The  forms  of  things  unknown,  the  poet's  pen 
Turns  them  to  shapes,  and  gives  to  airy  nothing 
A  local  habitation  and  a  name. 
Such  tricks  hath  strong  imagination, 
That  if  it  would  but  apprehend  some  joy. 
It  comprehends  some  bringcr  of  that  joy." 

"Poctiy,"  says  Shelley,  "lifts  the  veil  from 
the  hidden  beauty  of  the  world,  and  makes 
familiar  objects  be  as  if  they  were  not  familiar." 
Elsewhere  he  writes :  "  It  creates,  but  it  creates 
by  combination  and  representation." 

"  Poetical  abstractions  are  beautiful  and 
new,  not  because  the  proportions  of  M'hich 
they  are  composed  had  no  previous  existence 
in  the  mind  of  man  or  in  nature,  but  because 
the  whole  produced  by  their  combination,  has 
some  intelligible  and  beautiful  analogy  with 
the  sources  of  emotion  and  thought." 

Leigh  Hunt  writes:  "Poetry  begins 
where  matters  of  fact  or  of  science  ceases  to  be 
merely  such,  and  to  exhibit  a  further  truth  ;" 
again  he  says :  "  Poetry  is  imaginative  passion," 


94 

or  as  Milton  has  written  :  "  Poetry  in  compari- 
son with  science  is  simple,  sensuous  and  pas- 
sionate." 

Again,  our  own  Emerson  has  written  : 
"  Poetry  is  the  perpetual  endeavor  to  express 
the  spirit  of  things.  Its  essential  mark  is,  that 
it  betrays  in  every  word  instant  activity  of 
mind,  shown  in  new  uses  of  every  fact  and 
image,  in  preternatural  quickness  of  percep- 
tion of  relations  ;  all  its  words  are  poems." 

Yea,  even  so  long  ago  as  the  Chaldean 
Zoroaster,  it  was  written  :  "  Poets  are  standing 
transporters,  whose  employment  consists  in 
speaking  to  the  father  and  to  matter  ;  in  pro- 
ducing apparent  imitations  of  unapparent 
nature,  and  inscribing  things  unapparent  to 
the  apparent  fabrication  of  the  world." 

As  definitions,  most  of  these  are  far  from 
satisfactory,  sometimes  vague,  and  ofttimes 
contradicting  themselves  and  each  other ;  and 
yet  finding  in  our  definition  a  solvent  for 
all  their  contradictions,  we  can  say  of  one 
"  That's  true  "  and  of  another  "  That's  true 
too." 

Summing  up  the  evidence,  then,  we  find. 


95 

that  besides  the  a  priori  and  a  posteriori  con- 
siderations developed  in  the  earher  pa^es  of 
the  discussion,  our  definition  has  the  fur- 
ther warrant  of  the  two  great  tests  of  truth — 
"it  hves  not  unto  itself  alone,"  and  "comes 
not  to  destroy,  but  to  fulfill." 


Timet  Printing  Ilouap, 
Philadelphia,  Pa. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 

This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


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JUN27  1989 


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